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ngry  Hearts  ^   Goldwyn  Picture 

BRYANT  WASHBURN  AND  HELEN  FERGUSON  AS  DAVID  AND  SARA 
IN  THE  PHOTOPLAY 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 


BY 

ANZIA  YEZIERSKA 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  SCENES 

FROM  THE  PHOTOPLAY 
A   GOLDWYN    PICTURE 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,    I92O,    BY    ANZIA    YKZIERSKt, 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


3547 


To  MRS.  HENRY  OLLESHEIMER 


WITHDRAWN 


CONTENTS 

WINGS  i 

HUNGER  35 

THE  LOST  "BEAUTIFULNESS"  65 

THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE  97 

THE  MIRACLE  114 

WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM  142 

SOAP  AND  WATER  163 

"  THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND  "  178 

MY  OWN  PEOPLE  224 

How  I  FOUND  AMERICA  250 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 


WINGS 

"My  heart  chokes  in  me  like  in  a  prison!  Pm 
dying  for  a  little  love  and  I  got  nobody  —  no- 
body !"  wailed  Shenah  Pessah,  as  she  looked  out 
of  the  dismal  basement  window. 

It  was  a  bright  Sunday  afternoon  in  May, 
and  into  the  gray,  cheerless,  janitor's  base- 
ment a  timid  ray  of  sunlight  announced  the 
dawn  of  spring. 

"Oi  weh!  Light!"  breathed  Shenah  Pessah, 
excitedly,  throwing  open  the  sash.  "A  little 
light  in  the  room  for  the  first  time!"  And  she 
stretched  out  her  hands  hungrily  for  the  warm- 
ing bit  of  sun. 

The  happy  laughter  of  the  shopgirls  standing 

on  the  stoop  with  their  beaux  and  the  sight  of  the 

young  mothers  with  their  husbands  and  babies 

fanned  anew  the  consuming  fire  in  her  breast. 

i 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"I'm  not  jealous!"  she  gasped,  chokingly. 
"My  heart  hurts  too  deep  to  want  to  tear 
from  them  their  luck  to  happiness.  But  why 
should  they  live  and  enjoy  life  and  why  must 
I  only  look  on  how  they  are  happy?" 

She  clutched  at  her  throat  like  one  stifled 
for  want  of  air.  "What  is  the  matter  with  you? 
Are  you  going  out  of  your  head?  For  what  is 
your  crying?  Who  will  listen  to  you?  Who 
gives  a  care  what's  going  to  become  from 
you?" 

Crushed  by  her  loneliness,  she  sank  into  a 
chair.  For  a  long  time  she  sat  motionless,  finding 
drear  fascination  in  the  mocking  faces  traced 
in  the  patches  of  the  torn  plaster.  Gradually, 
she  became  aware  of  a  tingling  warmth  playing 
upon  her  cheeks.  And  with  a  revived  breath, 
she  drank  in  the  miracle  of  the  sunlit  wall. 

"Ach!"  she  sighed.  "Once  a  year  the  sun 
comes  to  light  up  even  this  dark  cellar,  so  why 
should  n't  the  High  One  send  on  me  too  a  little 
brightness?" 

This  new  wave  of  hope  swept  aside  the  fact 
that  she  was  the  "greenhorn"  janitress,  that 


WINGS 

she  was  twenty-two  and  dowryless,  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  traditions  of  her  people,  con- 
demned to  be  shelved  aside  as  an  unmated 
thing  —  a  creature  of  pity  and  ridicule. 

"I  can't  help  it  how  old  I  am  or  how  poor  I 
am!"  she  burst  out  to  the  deaf  and  dumb  air. 
"I  want  a  little  life!  I  want  a  little  joy!" 

The  bell  rang  sharply,  and  as  she  turned  to 
answer  the  call,  she  saw  a  young  man  at  the 
doorway  —  a  framed  picture  of  her  innermost 
dreams. 

The  stranger  spoke. 

Shenah  Pessah  did  not  hear  the  words,  she 
heard  only  the  music  of  his  voice.  She  gazed 
fascinated  at  his  clothes  —  the  loose  Scotch 
tweeds,  the  pongee  shirt,  a  bit  open  at  the  neck, 
but  she  did  not  see  him  or  the  things  he  wore. 
She  only  felt  an  irresistible  presence  seize  her 
soul.  It  was  as  though  the  god  of  her  innermost 
longings  had  suddenly  taken  shape  in  human 
form  and  lifted  her  in  mid-air. 

"Does  the  janitor  live  here?"  the  stranger 
repeated. 

Shenah  Pessah  nodded. 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Can  you  show  rne  the  room  to  let?" 

"Yes,  right  away,  but  wait  only  a  minute," 
stammered  Shenah  Pessah,  fumbling  for  the 
key  on  the  shelf. 

"Don't  fly  into  the  air!"  She  tried  to  reason 
with  her  wild,  throbbing  heart,  as  she  walked 
upstairs  with  him.  In  an  effort  to  down  the 
chaos  of  emotion  that  shook  her  she  began  to 
talk  nervously:  "Mrs.  Stein  who  rents  out  the 
room  ain't  going  to  be  back  till  the  evening, 
but  I  can  tell  you  the  price  and  anything  you 
want  to  know.  She's  a  grand  cook  and  you  can 
eat  by  her  your  breakfast  and  dinner — "  She 
did  not  have  the  slightest  notion  of  what  she 
was  saying,  but  talked  on  in  a  breathless  stream 
lest  he  should  hear  the  loud  beating  of  her  heart. 

"Could  I  have  a  drop-light  put  in  here?" 
the  man  asked,  as  he  looked  about  the  room. 

Shenah  Pessah  stole  a  quick,  shy  glance  at 
him.  "Are  you  maybe  a  teacher  or  a  writing 
man?" 

"Yes,  sometimes  I  teach,"  he  said,  studying 
her,  drawn  by  the  struggling  soul  of  her  that 
cried  aloud  to  him  out  of  her  eyes. 
4 


WINGS 

"I  could  tell  right  away  that  you  must  be 
some  kind  of  a  somebody,"  she  said,  looking  up 
with  wistful  worship  in  her  eyes.  "Ach,  how 
grand  it  must  be  to  live  only  for  learning  and 
thinking." 

"Is  this  your  home?" 

"  I  never  had  a  home  since  I  was  eight  years 
old.  I  was  living  by  strangers  even  in  Russia." 

"Russia?"  he  repeated  with  quickened  at- 
tention. So  he  was  in  their  midst,  the  people  he 
had  come  to  study.  The  girl  with  her  hungry 
eyes  and  intense  eagerness  now  held  a  new  in- 
terest for  him. 

John  Barnes,  the  youngest  instructor  of 
sociology  in  his  university,  congratulated  him- 
self at  his  good  fortune  in  encountering  such  a 
splendid  type  for  his  research.  He  was  prepar- 
ing his  thesis  on  the  "Educational  Problems  of 
the  Russian  Jews,"  and  in  order  to  get  into 
closer  touch  with  his  subject,  he  had  determined 
to  live  on  the  East  Side  during  his  spring  and 
summer  vacation. 

He  went  on  questioning  her,  unconsciously 
using  all  the  compelling  power  that  made  people 
5 


HUNGRY  HEARTS  . 

open  their  hearts  to  him.  "And  how  long  have 
you  been  here?" 

"Two  years  already." 

"You  seem  to  be  fond  of  study.  I  suppose 
you  go  to  night-school?" 

"I  never  yet  stepped  into  a  night-school 
since  I  came  to  America.  From  where  could  I 
get  the  time?  My  uncle  is  such  an  old  man  he 
can't  do  much  and  he  got  already  used  to  leave 
the  whole  house  on  me." 

"You  stay  with  your  uncle,  then?" 

"Yes,  my  uncle  sent  for  me  the  ticket  for 
America  when  my  aunt  was  yet  living.  She  got 
herself  sick.  And  what  could  an  old  man  like 
him  do  with  only  two  hands?" 

"Was  that  sufficient  reason  for  you  to  leave 
your  homeland?" 

"What  did  I  have  out  there  in  Savel  that  I 
should  be  afraid  to  lose?  The  cows  that  I  used 
to  milk  had  it  better  than  me.  They  got  at 
least  enough  to  eat  and  me  slaving  from  morn- 
ing till  night  went  around  hungry." 

"You  poor  child!"  broke  from  the  heart  of 
the  man,  the  scientific  inquisition  of  the  soci- 
6 


WINGS 

ologist  momentarily  swept  away  by  his  human 
sympathy. 

Who  had  ever  said  "poor  child"  to  her  — 
and  in  such  a  voice?  Tears  gathered  in  Shenah 
Pessah's  eyes.  For  the  first  time  she  mustered 
the  courage  to  look  straight  at  him.  The  man's 
face,  his  voice,  his  bearing,  so  different  from 
any  one  she  had  ever  known,  and  yet  what  was 
there  about  him  that  made  her  so  strangely 
at  ease  with  him?  She  went  on  talking,  led 
irresistibly  by  the  friendly  glow  in  his  eyes. 

"I  got  yet  a  lot  of  luck.  I  learned  myself 
English  from  a  Jewish  English  reader,  and  one 
of  the  boarders  left  me  a  grand  book.  When  I 
only  begin  to  read,  I  forget  I  'm  on  this  world. 
It  lifts  me  on  wings  with  high  thoughts."  Her 
whole  face  and  figure  lit  up  with  animation  as 
she  poured  herself  out  to  him. 

"So  even  in  the  midst  of  these  sordid  sur- 
roundings were  *  wings'  and  'high  thoughts,'  ' 
he  mused.  Again  the  gleam  of  the  visionary  — 
the  eternal  desire  to  reach  out  and  up,  which 
was  the  predominant  racial  trait  of  the  Russian 
immigrant. 

7 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"What  is  the  name  of  your  book?"  he  con- 
tinued, taking  advantage  of  this  providential 
encounter. 

"The  book  is  'Dreams/  by  Olive  Schreiner." 

"H— m,"  he  reflected.  "So  these  are  the 
'wings'  and  'high  thoughts.'  No  wonder  the 
blushes  —  the  tremulousness.  What  an  op- 
portunity for  a  psychological  test-case,  and  at 
the  same  time  I  could  help  her  by  pointing  the 
way  out  of  her  nebulous  emotionalism  and 
place  her  feet  firmly  on  earth."  He  made  a 
quick,  mental  note  of  certain  books  that  he 
would  place  in  her  hands  and  wondered  how 
she  would  respond  to  them. 

"Do  you  belong  to  a  library?" 

"Library?  How?  Where?" 

Her  lack  of  contact  with  Americanizing 
agencies  appalled  him. 

"I'll  have  to  introduce  you  to  the  library 
when  I  come  to  live  here,"  he  said. 

"Ci-i!  You  really  like  it,  the  room?"  Shenah 
Pessah  clapped  her  hands  in  a  burst  of  un- 
controllable delight. 

"I  like  the  room  very  much,  and  I  shall  be 
8 


WINGS 

glad  to  take  it  if  you  can  get  it  ready  for  me  by 
next  week." 

Shenah  Pessah  looked  up  at  the  man.  "Do 
you  mean  it?  You  really  want  to  come  and 
live  here,  in  this  place  ?  The  sky  is  falling  to  the 
earth!" 

"Live  here?"  Most  decidedly  he  would  live 
here.  He  became  suddenly  enthusiastic.  But 
it  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the  scientist  for 
the  specimen  of  his  experimentation  —  of  the 
sculptor  for  the  clay  that  would  take  form 
under  his  touch. 

"I'm  coming  here  to  live — "  He  was  sur- 
prised at  the  eager  note  in  his  voice,  the  sudden 
leaven  of  joy  that  surged  through  his  veins. 
"And  I'm  going  to  teach  you  to  read  sensible 
books,  the  kind  that  will  help  you  more  than 
your  dream  book." 

Shenah  Pessah  drank  in  his  words  with  a  joy 
that  struck  back  as  fear  lest  this  man  — •  the 
visible  sign  of  her  answered  prayer  —  would 
any  moment  be  snatched  up  and  disappear  in 
the  heavens  where  he  belonged.  With  a  quick 
leap  toward  him  she  seized  his  hand  in  both 
9 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

her  own.  "Oi,  mister!  Would  you  like  to  learn 
me  English  lessons  too?  I'll  wash  for  you  your 
shirts  for  it.  If  you  would  even  only  talk  to  me, 
it  would  be  more  to  me  than  all  the  books  in 
the  world." 

He  instinctively  recoiled  at  this  outburst  of 
demonstrativeness.  His  eyes  narrowed  and  his 
answer  was  deliberate.  "Yes,  you  ought  to 
learn  English,"  he  said,  resuming  his  profes- 
sional tone,  but  the  girl  was  too  overwrought  to 
notice  the  change  in  his  manner. 

"There  it  is,"  he  thought  to  himself  on  his 
way  out.  "The  whole  gamut  of  the  Russian 
Jew  —  the  pendulum  swinging  from  abject 
servility  to  boldest  aggressiveness." 

Shenah  Pessah  remained  standing  and  smil- 
ing to  herself  after  Mr.  Barnes  left.  She  did  not 
remember  a  thing  she  had  said.  She  only  felt 
herself  whirling  in  space,  millions  of  miles  be- 
yond the  earth.  The  god  of  dreams  had  ar- 
rived and  nothing  on  earth  could  any  longer 
hold  her  down. 

Then  she  hurried  back  to  the  basement  and 
took  up  the  broken  piece  of  mirror  that  stood 
10 


WINGS 

on  the  shelf  over  the  sink  and  gazed  at  her 
face  trying  to  see  herself  through  his  eyes. 
"Was  it  only  pity  that  made  him  stop  to  talk  to 
me  ?  Or  can  it  be  that  he  saw  what 's  inside  me  ? " 

Her  eyes  looked  inward  as  she  continued  to 
talk  to  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"God  from  the  world!"  she  prayed.  "I'm 
nothing  and  nobody  now,  but  ach!  How  beau- 
tiful I  would  become  if  only  the  light  from  his 
eyes  would  fall  on  me!" 

Covering  her  flushed  face  with  her  hands  as 
if  to  push  back  the  tumult  of  desire  that  surged 
within  her,  she  leaned  against  the  wall.  "Who 
are  you  to  want  such  a  man?"  she  sobbed. 

"But  no  one  is  too  low  to  love  God,  the 
Highest  One.  There  is  no  high  in  love  and 
there  is  no  low  in  love.  Then  why  am  I  too  low 
to  love  him?" 

"Shenah  Pessah!"  called  her  uncle  angrily. 
"What  are  you  standing  there  like  a  yok, 
dreaming  in  the  air?  Don't  you  hear  the  tenants 
knocking  on  the  pipes?  They  are  hollering  for 
the  hot  water.  You  let  the  fire  go  out." 

At  the  sound  of  her  uncle's  voice  all  her 
ii 


-HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"high  thoughts"  fled.  The  mere  reminder  of 
the  furnace  with  its  ashes  and  cinders  smoth- 
ered her  buoyant  spirits  and  again  she  was 
weighed  down  by  the  strangling  yoke  of  her 
hateful,  daily  round. 

It  was  evening  when  she  got  through  with 
her  work.  To  her  surprise  she  did  not  feel  any 
of  the  old  weariness.  It  was  as  if  her  feet  danced 
under  her.  Then  from  the  open  doorway  of 
their  kitchen  she  overheard  Mrs.  Melker,  the 
matchmaker,  talking  to  her  uncle. 

"Motkeh,  the  fish-peddler,  is  looking  for  a 
wife  to  cook  him  his  eating  and  take  care  on 
his  children,"  she  was  saying  in  her  shrill, 
grating  voice.  "So  I  thought  to  myself  this  is  a 
golden  chance  for  Shenah  Pessah  to  grab.  You 
know  a  girl  in  her  years  and  without  money, 
a  single  man  would  n't  give  a  look  on  her." 

Shenah  Pessah  shuddered.  She  wanted  to 
run  away  from  the  branding  torture  of  their 
low  talk,  but  an  unreasoning  curiosity  drew 
her  to  listen. 

"Living  is  so  high,"  went  on  Mrs.  Melker, 
"that  single  men  don't  want  to  marry  them- 

12 


WINGS 

selves  even  to  young  girls,  except  if  they  can 
get  themselves  into  a  family  with  money  to 
start  them  up  in  business.  It  is  Shenah  Pessah's 
luck  yet  that  Motkeh  likes  good  eating  and  he 
can't  stand  it  any  more  the  meals  in  a  restau- 
rant. He  heard  from  people  what  a  good  cook 
and  housekeeper  Shenah  Pessah  is,  so  he  sent 
me  around  to  tell  you  he  would  take  her  as  she 
stands  without  a  cent." 

Mrs.  Melker  dramatically  beat  her  breast. 
"  I  swear  I  should  n't  live  to  go  away  from  here 
alive,  I  should  n't  live  to  see  my  own  children 
married  if  I'm  talking  this  match  for  the  few 
dollars  that  Motkeh  will  pay  me  for  it,  but  be- 
cause I  want  to  do  something  good  for  a  poor 
orphan.  I  'm  a  mother,  and  it  weeps  in  me  my 
heart  to  see  a  girl  in  her  years  and  not  married." 

"And  who'll  cook  for  me  my  eating,  if  I'll 
let  her  go?"  broke  out  her  uncle  angrily.  "And 
who  '11  do  me  my  work  ?  Did  n't  I  spend  out 
fifty  dollars  to  send  for  her  the  ticket  to  Amer- 
ica ?  Ought  n't  I  have  a  little  use  from  her  for 
so  many  dollars  I  laid  out  on  her?" 
s  "Think  on  God ! "  remonstrated  Mrs.  Melker. 
13 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"The  girl  is  an  orphan  and  time  is  pushing  it- 
self on  her.  Do  you  want  her  to  sit  till  her  braids 
grow  gray,  before  you'll  let  her  get  herself  a 
man?  It  stands  in  the  Talmud  that  a  man 
should  take  the  last  bite  away  from  his  mouth 
to  help  an  orphan  get  married.  You  'd  beg  your- 
self out  a  place  in  heaven  in  the  next  world  — 

"  In  America  a  person  can't  live  on  hopes  for 
the  next  world.  In  America  everybody  got  to 
look  out  for  himself.  I'd  have  to  give  up  the 
janitor's  work  to  let  her  go,  and  then  where 
would  I  be?" 

"You  lived  already  your  life.  Give  her  also  a 
chance  to  lift  up  her  head  in  the  world.  Could 
n't  you  get  yourself  in  an  old  man's  home?" 

"These  times  you  got  to  have  money  even  in 
an  old  man's  home.  You  know  how  they  say, 
if  you  oil  the  wheels  you  can  ride.  With  dry 
hands  you  can't  get  nothing  in  America." 

"  So  you  got  no  pity  on  an  orphan  and  your 
own  relation?  All  her  young  years  she  choked 
herself  in  darkness  and  now  comes  already  a 
little  light  for  her,  a  man  that  can  make  a 
good  living  wants  her — " 


WINGS 

"And  who'll  have  pity  on  me  if  I'll  let  her 
out  from  my  hands?  Who  is  this  Motkeh,  any- 
way? Is  he  good  off?  Would  I  also  have  a  place 
where  to  lay  my  old  head  ?  Where  stands  he  out 
with  his  pushcart?" 

"On  Essex  Street  near  Delancey." 

"Oi-i!  You  mean  Motkeh  Pelz?  Why,  I  know 
him  yet  from  years  ago.  They  say  his  wife  died 
him  from  hunger.  She  had  to  chew  the  earth 
before  she  could  beg  herself  out  a  cent  from  him. 
By  me  Shenah  Pessah  has  at  least  enough  to 
eat  and  shoes  on  her  feet.  I  ask  you  only  is  it 
worth  already  to  grab  a  man  if  you  got  to  die 
from  hunger  for  it?" 

Shenah  Pessah  could  listen  no  longer. 

"Don't  you  worry  yourself  for  me,"  she  com- 
manded, charging  into  the  room.  "Don't  take 
pity  on  my  years.  I'm  living  in  America,  not 
in  Russia.  I  'm  not  hanging  on  anybody's  neck 
to  support  me.  In  America,  if  a  girl  earns  her 
living,  she  can  be  fifty  years  old  and  without  a 
man,  and  nobody  pities  her." 

Seizing  her  shawl,  she  ran  out  into  the  street. 
She  did  not  know  where  her  feet  carried  her. 
IS 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

She  had  only  one  desire  — to  get  away.  A 
fierce  rebellion  against  everything  and  every- 
body raged  within  her  and  goaded  her  on  until 
she  felt  herself  choked  with  hate. 

All  at  once  she  visioned  a  face  and  heard  a 
voice.  The  blacker,  the  more  stifling  the  ugli- 
ness of  her  prison,  the  more  luminous  became 
the  light  of  the  miraculous  stranger  who  had 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  talk  to  her.  It  was  as 
though  inside  a  pit  of  darkness  the  heavens 
opened  and  hidden  hopes  began  to  sing. 

Her  uncle  was  asleep  when  she  returned.  In 
the  dim  gaslight  she  looked  at  his  yellow,  care- 
crushed  face  with  new  compassion  in  her  heart. 
"Poor  old  man!"  she  thought,  as  she  turned  to 
her  room.  "Nothing  beautiful  never  happened 
to  him.  What  did  he  have  in  life  outside  the 
worry  for  bread  and  rent?  Who  knows,  maybe 
if  such  a  god  of  men  would  have  shined  on 
him — "  She  fell  asleep  and  she  awoke  with 
visions  opening  upon  visions  of  new,  gleaming 
worlds  of  joy  and  hope.  She  leaped  out  of  bed 
singing  a  song  she  had  not  heard  since  she  was 
a  little  child  in  her  mother's  home. 
16 


WINGS 

Several  times  during  the  day,  she  found  her- 
self at  the  broken  mirror,  arranging  and  re- 
arranging her  dark  mass  of  unkempt  hair  with 
fumbling  fingers.  She  was  all  a-tremble  with 
breathless  excitement  to  imitate  the  fluffy 
style  of  the  much-courted  landlady's  daughter. 

For  the  first  time  she  realized  how  shabby 
and  impossible  her  clothes  were.  "Oi  weh!"  she 
wrung  her  hands.  "I 'd  give  away  everything  in 
the  world  only  to  have  something  pretty  to 
wear  for  him.  My  whole  life  hangs  on  how  I  '11 
look  in  his  eyes.  I  got  to  have  a  hat  and  a  new 
dress.  I  can't  no  more  wear  my  *  greenhorn' 
shawl  going  out  with  an  American. 

"But  from  where  can  I  get  the  money  for  new 
clothes  ?  Oi  weh !  How  bitter  it  is  not  to  have  the 
dollar!  Woe  is  me!  No  mother,  no  friend,  no- 
body to  help  me  lift  myself  out  of  my  greenhorn 
rags." 

"Why  not  pawn  the  feather  bed  your  mother 
left  you?"  She  jumped  at  the  thought. 

"What?  Have  you  no  heart?  No  feelings? 
Pawn  the  only  one  thing  left  from  your  dead 
mother? 

17 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Why  not?  Nothing  is  too  dear  for  him.  If 
your  mother  could  stand  up  from  her  grave, 
she'd  cut  herself  in  pieces,  she'd  tear  the  sun 
and  stars  out  from  the  sky  to  make  you  beauti- 
ful for  him." 

Late  one  evening  Zaretsky  sat  in  his  pawn- 
shop, absorbed  in  counting  the  money  of  his 
day's  sales,  when  Shenah  Pessah,  with  a  shawl 
over  her  head  and  a  huge  bundle  over  her  shoul- 
der, edged  her  way  hesitantly  into  the  store. 
Laying  her  sacrifice  down  on  the  counter,  she 
stood  dumbly  and  nervously  fingered  the  fringes 
of  her  shawl. 

The  pawnbroker  lifted  his  miserly  face  from 
the  cash-box  and  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the 
girl's  trembling  figure. 

"Nu?"  said  Zaretsky,  in  his  cracked  voice, 
cutting  the  twine  from  the  bundle  and  unfold- 
ing a  feather  bed.  His  appraising  hand  felt  that 
it  was  of  the  finest  down.  "How  much  ask  you 
for  it?" 

The  fiendish  gleam  of  his  shrewd  eyes  para- 
lyzed her  with  terror.  A  lump  came  in  her  throat 
and  she  wavered  speechless. 
18 


WINGS 

"I'll  give  you  five  dollars,"  said  Zaretsky. 

"Five  dollars?"  gasped  Shenah  Pessah.  Her 
hands  rushed  back  anxiously  to  the  feather  bed 
and  her  fingers  clung  to  it  as  if  it  were  a  living 
thing.  She  gazed  panic-stricken  at  the  gloomy 
interior  of  the  pawnshop  with  its  tawdry  jewels 
in  the  cases;  the  stacks  of  second-hand  clothing 
hanging  overhead,  back  to  the  grisly  face  of  the 
pawnbroker.  The  weird  tickings  that  came  from 
the  cheap  clocks  on  the  shelves  behind  Zaretsky, 
seemed  to  her  like  the  smothered  heart-beats  of 
people  who  like  herself  had  been  driven  to  barter 
their  last  precious  belongings  for  a  few  dollars. 

"Is  it  for  yourself  that  you  come?"  he  asked, 
strangely  stirred  by  the  mute  anguish  in  the 
girl's  eyes.  This  morgue  of  dead  belongings  had 
taken  its  toll  of  many  a  pitiful  victim  of  want. 
But  never  before  had  Zaretsky  been  so  affected. 
People  bargained  and  rebelled  and  struggled 
with  him  on  his  own  plane.  But  the  dumb  help- 
lessness of  this  girl  and  her  coming  to  him  at 
such  a  late  hour  touched  the  man's  heart. 

"  Is  it  for  yourself  ? "  he  repeated,  in  a  softened 
tone. 

19 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

The  new  note  of  feeling  in  his  voice  made  her 
look  up.  The  hard,  crafty  expression  on  his  face 
had  given  place  to  a  look  of  sympathy. 

"Yes,  it's  mine,  from  my  mother,"  she  stam- 
mered, brokenly.  "The  last  memory  from  Rus- 
sia. How  many  winters  it  took  my  mother  to 
pick  together  the  feathers.  She  began  it  when  I 
was  yet  a  little  baby  in  the  cradle  —  and  — 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  shawl  and  sobbed. 

"Any  one  sick?  Why  do  you  got  to  pawn  it? " 

She  raised  her  tear-stained  face  and  mutely 
looked  at  him.  How  could  she  explain  and  how 
could  he  possibly  understand  her  sudden  sav- 
age desire  for  clothes? 

Zaretsky,  feeling  that  he  had  been  clumsy  and 
tactless,  hastened  to  add,  "Nu —  I '11  give  you 
—  a  —  a  —  a  —  ten  dollars,"  he  finished  with  a 
motion  of  his  hand,  as  if  driving  from  him  the 
onrush  of  generosity  that  seized  him. 

"Oi,  mister!"  cried  Shenah  Pessah,  as  the 
man  handed  her  the  bill.  "You're  saving  me 
my  life!  God  will  pay  you  for  this  goodness." 
And  crumpling  the  money  in  her  hand,  she 
hurried  back  home  elated. 
20 


WINGS 

The  following  evening,  as  soon  as  her  work 
was  over,  Shenah  Pessah  scurried  through  the 
ghetto  streets,  seeking  in  the  myriad-colored 
shop  windows  the  one  hat  and  the  one  dress 
that  would  voice  the  desire  of  her  innermost 
self.  At  last  she  espied  a  shining  straw  with 
cherries  so  red,  so  luscious,  that  they  cried  out 
to  her,  "  Bite  me ! "  That  was  the  hat  she  bought. 

The  magic  of  those  cherries  on  her  hat 
brought  back  to  her  the  green  fields  and  or- 
chards of  her  native  Russia.  Yes,  a  green  dress 
was  what  she  craved.  And  she  picked  out  the 
greenest,  crispest  organdie. 

That  night,  as  she  put  on  her  beloved  colors, 
she  vainly  tried  to  see  herself  from  head  to  foot, 
but  the  broken  bit  of  a  mirror  that  she  owned 
could  only  show  her  glorious  parts  of  her.  Her 
clothes  seemed  to  enfold  her  in  flames  of  desire 
leaping  upon  desire.  "Only  to  be  beautiful! 
Only  to  be  beautiful!"  she  murmured  breath- 
lessly. "Not  for  myself,  but  only  for  him." 

Time  stood  still  for  Shenah  Pessah  as  she 
counted  the  days,  the  hours,  and  the  minutes 
for  the  arrival  of  John  Barnes.  At  last,  through 

21 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

her  basement  window,  she  saw  him  walk  up  the 
front  steps.  She  longed  to  go  over  to  him  and 
fling  herself  at  his  feet  and  cry  out  to  him  with 
what  hunger  of  heart  she  awaited  his  coming. 
But  the  very  intensity  of  her  longing  left  her 
faint  and  dumb. 

He  passed  to  his  room.  Later,  she  saw  him 
walk  out  without  even  stopping  to  look  at  her. 
The  next  day  and  the  day  after,  she  watched 
him  from  her  hidden  corner  pass  in  and  out  of 
the  house,  but  still  he  did  not  come  to  her. 

Oh,  how  sweet  it  was  to  suffer  the  very  hurt 
of  his  oblivion  of  her!  She  gloried  in  his  great 
height  that  made  him  so  utterly  unaware  of  her 
existence.  It  was  enough  for  her  worshiping 
eyes  just  to  glimpse  him  from  afar.  What  was 
she  to  him?  Could  she  expect  him  to  greet  the 
stairs  on  which  he  stepped?  Or  take  notice  of  the 
door  that  swung  open  for  him  ?  After  all,  she  was 
nothing  but  part  of  the  house.  So  why  should 
he  take  notice  of  her?  She  was  the  steps  on 
which  he  walked.  She  was  the  door  that  swung 
open  for  him.  And  he  did  not  know  it. 

For  four  evenings  in  succession,  ever  since 
22 


WINGS 

John  Barnes  had  come  to  live  in  the  house,  She- 
nah  Pessah  arrayed  herself  in  her  new  things  and 
waited.  Was  it  not  a  miracle  that  he  came  the 
first  time  when  she  did  not  even  dream  that  he 
was  on  earth  ?  So  why  should  n't  the  miracle 
happen  again  ?  This  evening,  however,  she  was  so 
spent  with  the  hopelessness  of  her  longing  that 
she  had  no  energy  left  to  put  on  her  adornments. 

All  at  once  she  was  startled  out  of  her  apathy 
by  a  quick  tap  on  her  window-pane.  "How 
about  going  to  the  library,  to-morrow  eve- 
ning?" asked  John  Barnes. 

"Oi-i-i!  Yes!  Thanks — "  she  stammered  in 
confusion. 

"Well,  to-morrow  night,  then,  at  seven. 
Thank  you."  He  hurried  out  embarrassed  by 
the  grateful  look  that  shone  to  him  out  of  her 
eyes.  The  gaze  haunted  him  and  hurt  him.  It 
was  the  beseeching  look  of  a  homeless  dog, 
begging  to  be  noticed.  "Poor  little  immigrant," 
he  thought,  "how  lonely  she  must  be!" 

"So  he  did  n't  forget,"  rejoiced  Shenah  Pes- 
sah. "How  only  the  sound  from  his  voice  opens 
the  sky  in  my  heart!  How  the  deadness  and 
23 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

emptiness  in  me  flames  up  into  life!  Ach!  The 
sun  is  again  beginning  to  shine!" 

An  hour  before  the  appointed  time,  Shenah 
Pessah  dressed  herself  in  all  her  finery  for  John 
Barnes.  She  swung  open  the  door  and  stood  in 
readiness  watching  the  little  clock  on  the  man- 
tel-shelf. The  ticking  thing  seemed  to  throb 
with  the  unutterable  hopes  compressed  in  her 
heart,  all  the  mute  years  of  her  stifled  life.  Each 
little  thud  of  time  sang  a  wild  song  of  released 
joy  —  the  joy  of  his  coming  nearer. 

For  the  tenth  time  Shenah  Pessah  went  over 
in  her  mind  what  she  would  say  to  him  when 
he'd  come. 

"  It  was  so  kind  from  you  to  take  from  your 
dear  time  —  to  — " 

"No  — that  sounds  not  good.  I'll  begin  like 
this  —  Mr.  Barnes !  I  can't  give  it  out  in  words 
your  kindness,  to  stop  from  your  high  thoughts 
to  — to— " 

"No— no!  Oi  weh!  God  from  the  world! 

Why  should  it  be  so  hard  for  me  to  say  to  him 

what  I  mean?  Why  should  n't  I  be  able  to  say 

to  him  plain  out  —  Mr.  Barnes!  You  are  an 

24 


WINGS 

angel  from  the  sky!  You  are  saving  me  my  life 
to  let  me  only  give  a  look  on  you !  I  'm  happier 
than  a  bird  in  the  air  when  I  think  only  that 
such  goodness  like  you  — 

The  sudden  ring  of  the  bell  shattered  all  her 
carefully  rehearsed  phrases  and  she  met  his 
greeting  in  a  flutter  of  confusion. 

"My!  Have  n't  you  blossomed  out  since  last 
night!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barnes,  startled  by 
Shenah  Pessah's  sudden  display  of  color. 

"Yes,"  she  flushed,  raising  to  him  her  radiant 
face.  "  I  'm  through  for  always  with  old  women's 
shawls.  This  is  my  first  American  dress-up." 

"Splendid!  So  you  want  to  be  an  American! 
The  next  step  will  be  to  take  up  some  work  that 
will  bring  you  in  touch  with  American  people." 

"Yes.  You'll  help  me?  Yes?"  Her  eyes 
sought  his  with  an  appeal  of  unquestioning 
reliance. 

"Have  you  ever  thought  what  kind  of  work 
you  would  like  to  take  up?"  he  asked,  when 
they  got  out  into  the  street. 

"No — I  want  only  to  get  away  from  the 
basement.  I  'm  crazy  for  people." 
25 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Would  you  like  to  learn  a  trade  in  a  fac- 
tory?" 

"Anything — •  anything!  I  'm  burning  to  learn. 
Give  me  only  an  advice.  What?" 

"What  can  you  do  best  with  your  hands?" 

"With  the  hands  the  best?  It's  all  the  same 
what  I  do  with  the  hands.  Think  you  not  maybe 
now,  I  could  begin  already  something  with  the 
head?  Yes?" 

"We'll  soon  talk  this  over  together,  after  you 
have  read  a  book  that  will  tell  you  how  to  find 
out  what  you  are  best  fitted  for." 

When  they  entered  the  library,  Shenah  Pessah 
halted  in  awe.  "What  a  stillness  full  from  think- 
ing! So  beautiful,  it  comes  on  me  like  music!" 

"Yes.  This  is  quite  a  place,"  he  acquiesced, 
seeing  again  the  public  library  in  a  new  light 
through  her  eyes.  "  Some  of  the  best  minds  have 
worked  to  give  us  just  this." 

"How  the  book-ladies  look  so  quiet  like  the 
things." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  with  a  tell-tale  glance  at 
her.  "I  too  like  to  see  a  woman's  face  above  her 
clothes." 

26 


WINGS 

The  approach  of  the  librarian  cut  off  further 
comment.  As  Mr.  Barnes  filled  out  the  applica- 
tion card,  Shenah  Pessah  noted  the  librarian's 
simple  attire.  "What  means  he  a  woman's  face 
above  her  clothes?"  she  wondered.  And  the  first 
shadow  of  a  doubt  crossed  her  mind  as  to 
whether  her  dearly  bought  apparel  was  pleas- 
ing to  his  eyes.  In  the  few  brief  words  that 
passed  between  Mr.  Barnes  and  the  librarian, 
Shenah  Pessah  sensed  that  these  two  were  of  the 
same  world  and  that  she  was  different.  Her  first 
contact  with  him  in  a  well-lighted  room  made 
her  aware  that  "there  were  other  things  to  the 
person  besides  the  dress-up."  She  had  noticed 
their  well-kept  hands  on  the  desk  and  she  be- 
came aware  that  her  own  were  calloused  and 
rough.  That  is  why  she  felt  her  dirty  finger-nails 
curl  in  awkwardly  to  hide  themselves  as  she 
held  the  pen  to  sign  her  name. 

When  they  were  out  in  the  street  again,  he 
turned  to  her  and  said,  "  If  you  don't  mind,  I  'd 
prefer  to  walk  back.  The  night  is  so  fine  and 
I've  been  in  the  stuffy  office  all  day." 

"I  don't  mind"  —  the  words  echoed  within 
27 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

ker.  If  he  only  knew  how  above  all  else  she 
wanted  this  walk. 

"It  was  grand  in  there,  but  the  electric  lights 
are  like  so  many  eyes  looking  you  over.  In  the 
street  it  is  easier  for  me.  The  dark  covers  you 
up  so  good." 

He  laughed,  refreshed  by  her  unconscious  self- 
revelation. 

"As  long  as  you  feel  in  your  element  let's 
walk  on  to  the  pier." 

"Like  for  a  holiday,  it  feels  itself  in  me,"  she 
bubbled,  as  he  took  her  arm  in  crossing  the 
street.  "Now  see  I  America  for  the  first  time!" 

It  was  all  so  wonderful  to  Barnes  that  in  the 
dirt  and  noise  of  the  overcrowded  ghetto,  this 
erstwhile  drudge  could  be  transfigured  into  such 
a  vibrant  creature  of  joy.  Even  her  clothes 
that  had  seemed  so  bold  and  garish  awhile  ago, 
were  now  inexplicably  in  keeping  with  the  car- 
nival spirit  that  he  felt  steal  over  him. 

As  they  neared  the  pier,  he  reflected  strangely 

upon  the  fact  that  out  of  the  thousands  of 

needy,  immigrant  girls  whom  he  might  have 

befriended,  this  eager  young  being  at  his  side 

28 


WINGS 

was  ordained  by  some  peculiar  providence  to 
come  under  his  personal  protection. 

"How  long  did  you  say  you  have  been  in  this 
country,  Shenah  Pessah?" 

"How  long?"  She  echoed  his  words  as  though 
waking  from  a  dream.  "It's  two  years  already. 
But  that  did  n't  count  life.  From  now  on  I  live." 

"And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  in  all  this  time, 
no  one  has  taken  you  by  the  hand  and  shown 
you  the  ways  of  our  country?  The  pity  of  it!" 

"  I  never  had  nothing,  nor  nobody.  But  now 
—  it  dances  under  me  the  whole  earth !  It  feels 
in  me  grander  than  dreams!" 

He  drank  in  the  pure  joy  out  of  her  eyes.  For 
the  moment,  the  girl  beside  him  was  the  living 
flame  of  incarnate  Spring. 

"He  feels  for  me,"  she  rejoiced,  as  they 
walked  on  in  silence.  The  tenderness  of  his  sym- 
pathy enfolded  her  like  some  blessed  warmth. 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  pier,  they 
paused  and  watched  the  moonlight  playing  on 
the  water.  In  the  shelter  of  a  truck  they  felt 
benignly  screened  from  any  stray  glances  of  thf 
loiterers  near  by. 

29 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

How  big  seemed  his  strength  as  he  stood  sil- 
houetted against  the  blue  night!  For  the  first 
time  Shenah  Pessah  noticed  the  splendid 
straightness  of  his  shoulders.  The  clean  glowing 
youth  of  him  drew  her  like  a  spell. 

"Ach!  Only  to  keep  always  inside  my  heart 
the  kindness,  the  gentlemanness  that  shi-nes 
from  his  face,"  thought  Shenah  Pessah,  in- 
stinctively nestling  closer. 

"Poor  little  immigrant!"  murmured  John 
Barnes.  "How  lonely,  how  barren  your  life  must 
have  been  till — "  In  an  impulse  of  compassion, 
his  arms  opened  and  Shenah  Pessah  felt  her 
soul  swoon  in  ecstasy  as  he  drew  her  toward  him. 

It  was  three  days  since  the  eventful  evening  on 
the  pier  and  Shenah  Pessah  had  not  seen  John 
Barnes  since.  He  had  vanished  like  a  dream, 
and  yet  he  was  not  a  dream.  He  was  the  only 
thing  real  in  the  unreal  emptiness  of  her  un- 
lived life.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  she  saw  again 
his  face  with  its  joy-giving  smile.  She  heard 
again  his  voice  and  felt  again  his  arms  around 
her  as  he  kissed  her  lips.  Then  in  the  midst  of 
30 


WINGS 

her  sweetest  visioning  a  gnawing  emptiness 
seized  her  and  the  cruel  ache  of  withheld  love 
sucked  dry  all  those  beautiful  feelings  his  pres- 
ence inspired.  Sometimes  there  flashed  across 
her  fevered  senses  the  memory  of  his  com- 
passionate endearments : "  Poor  lonely  little  im- 
migrant!" And  she  felt  his  sweet  words  smite 
her  flesh  with  their  cruel  mockery. 

She  went  about  her  work  with  restlessness. 
At  each  step,  at  each  sound,  she  started,  "May- 
be it's  him!  Maybe!"  She  could  not  fall  asleep 
at  night,  but  sat  up  in  bed  writing  and  tearing 
up  letters  to  him.  The  only  lull  to  the  storm 
that  uprooted  her  being  was  in  trying  to  tell  him 
how  every  throb  within  her  clamored  for  him,  but 
the  most  heart-piercing  cry  that  she  could  utter 
only  stabbed  her  heart  with  the  futility  of  words. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  it  was  Shenah  Pes- 
sah's  duty  to  clean  Mrs.  Stein's  floor.  This 
brought  her  to  Mr.  Barnes's  den  in  his  absence. 
She  gazed  about  her,  calling  up  his  presence 
at  the  sight  of  his  belongings. 

"How  fine  to  the  touch  is  the  feel  from  every- 
thing his,"  she  sighed,  tenderly  resting  her 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

cheek  on  his  dressing-gown.  With  a  timid  hand 
she  picked  up  a  slipper  that  stood  beside  his  bed 
and  she  pressed  it  to  her  heart  reverently.  "I 
wish  I  was  this  leather  thing  only  to  hold  his 
feet ! "  Then  she  turned  to  his  dresser  and  passed 
her  hands  caressingly  over  the  ivory  things  on 
it.  "Ach!  You  lucky  brush  —  smoothing  his 
hair  every  day!" 

All  at  once  she  heard  footsteps,  and  before 
she  could  collect  her  thoughts,  he  entered.  Her 
•whole  being  lit  up  with  the  joy  of  his  coming. 
But  one  glance  at  him  revealed  to  her  the 
changed  expression  that  darkened  his  face. 
His  arms  hung  limply  at  his  side  —  the  arms 
she  expected  to  stretch  out  to  her  and  enfold 
her.  As  if  struck  in  the  face  by  his  heartless 
rebuff,  she  rushed  out  blindly. 

"Just  a  minute,  please,"  he  managed  to  de- 
tain her.  "As  a  gentleman,  I  owe  you  an  apol- 
ogy. That  night  —  it  was  a  passing  moment  of 
forgetfulness.  It's  not  to  happen  again—" 

Before  he  had  finished,  she  had  run  out 
scorched  with  shame  by  his  words. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  ejaculated,  when  he  found 
32 


WINGS 

he  was  alone.  "Who'd  ever  think  that  she 
would  take  it  so?  I  suppose  there  is  no  use  try- 
ing to  explain  to  her." 

For  some  time  he  sat  on  his  bed,  staring  rue- 
fully. Then,  springing  to  his  feet,  he  threw  his 
things  together  in  a  valise.  " You'd  be  a  cad  if 
you  did  not  clear  out  of  here  at  once,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  "No  matter  how  valuable  the 
scientific  inquiry  might  prove  to  be,  you  can't 
let  the  girl  run  away  with  herself." 

Shenah  Pessah  was  at  the  window  when  she 
saw  John  Barnes  go  out  with  his  suitcases. 

"In  God's  name,  don't  leave  me!"  she  longed 
to  cry  out.  "You  are  the  only  bit  of  light  that  I 
ever  had,  and  now  it  will  be  darker  and  emptier 
for  my  eyes  than  ever  before!"  But  no  voice 
could  rise  out  of  her  parched  lips.  She  felt  a 
faintness  stunning  her  senses  as  though  some 
one  had  cut  open  the  arteries  of  her  wrists  and 
all  the  blood  rushed  out  of  her  body. 

"Oi  weh!"  she  moaned.  "Then  it  was  all 
nothing  to  him.  Why  did  he  make  bitter  to  me 
the  little  sweetness  that  was  dearer  to  me  than 
my  life?  What  means  he  a  gentleman? 
33 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Why  did  he  make  me  to  shame  telling  me 
he  did  n't  mean  nothing?  Is  it  because  I  'm  not  a 
lady  alike  to  him?  Is  a  gentleman  only  a  make- 
believe  man?" 

With  a  defiant  resolve  she  seized  hold  of  her- 
self and  rose  to  her  feet.  "Show  him  what's  in 
you.  If  it  takes  a  year,  or  a  million  years,  you 
got  to  show  him  you're  a  person.  From  now  on, 
you  got  why  to  live.  You  got  to  work  not  with 
the  strength  of  one  body  and  one  brain,  but  with 
the  strength  of  a  million  bodies  and  a  million 
brains.  By  day  and  by  night,  you  got  to  push, 
push  yourself  up  till  you  get  to  him  and  can 
look  him  in  his  face  eye  to  eye." 

Spent  by  the  fervor  of  this  new  exaltation,  she 
sat  with  her  head  in  her  hands  in  a  dull  stupor. 
Little  by  little  the  darkness  cleared  from  her 
soul  and  a  wistful  serenity  crept  over  her.  She 
raised  her  face  toward  the  solitary  ray  of  sun- 
light that  stole  into  her  basement  room. 

"After  all,  he  done  for  you  more  than  you 
could  do  for  him.  You  owe  it  to  him  the  deepest, 
the  highest  he  waked  up  in  you.  He  opened  the 
wings  of  your  soul." 


HUNGER 

SHENAH  PESSAH  paused  in  the  midst  of  scrub- 
bing the  stairs  of  the  tenement.  "Ach!"  she 
sighed.  "How  can  his  face  still  burn  so  in 
me  when  he  is  so  long  gone?  How  the  dead- 
ness  in  me  flames  up  with  life  at  the  thought  of 
him!" 

The  dark  hallway  seemed  flooded  with  white 
radiance.  She  closed  her  eyes  that  she  might 
see  more  vividly  the  beloved  features.  The 
glowing  smile  that  healed  all  ills  of  life  and 
changed  her  from  the  weary  drudge  into  the 
vibrant  creature  of  joy. 

It  was  all  a  miracle  —  his  coming,  this  young 
professor  from  one  of  the  big  colleges.  He  had 
rented  a  room  in  the  very  house  where  she  was 
janitress  so  as  to  be  near  the  people  he  was 
writing  about.  But  more  wonderful  than  all  was 
the  way  he  stopped  to  talk  to  her,  to  question 
her  about  herself  as  though  she  were  his  equal. 
What  warm  friendliness  had  prompted  him  to 
35 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

take  her  out  of  her  dark  basement  to  the  library 
where  there  were  books  to  read! 

And  then  —  that  unforgettable  night  on  the 
way  home,  when  the  air  was  poignant  with 
spring!  Only  a  moment  —  a  kiss —  a  pressure 
of  hands !  And  the  world  shone  with  light  —  the 
empty,  unlived  years  filled  with  love ! 

She  was  lost  in  dreams  of  her  one  hour  of  ro- 
mance when  a  woman  elbowed  her  way  through 
the  dim  passage,  leaving  behind  her  the  smell 
of  herring  and  onions. 

Shenah  Pessah  gripped  the  scrubbing-brush 
with  suppressed  fury.  "Meshugeneh!  Did  you 
not  swear  to  yourself  that  you  would  tear  hit 
memory  out  from  your  heart?  If  he  would  have 
been  only  a  man  I  could  have  forgotten  him. 
But  he  was  not  a  man!  He  was  God  Himself! 
On  whatever  I  look  shines  his  face!" 

The  white  radiance  again  suffused  her.  The 
brush  dropped  from  her  hand.  "He  —  he  is  the 
beating  in  my  heart!  He  is  the  life  in  me  —  the 
hope  in  me — the  breath  of  prayer  in  me!  If 
not  for  him  in  me,  then  what  am  I  ?  Deadness  — 
emptiness' — nothingness!  You  are  going  out 
36 


HUNGER 

of  your  head.  You  are  living  only  on  rainbows. 
He  is  no  more  real  — 

"What  is  real?  These  rags  I  wear?  This  pail? 
This  black  hole  ?  Or  him  and  the  dreams  of  him  ?" 
She  flung  her  challenge  to  the  murky  darkness. 

"  Shenah  Pessah !  A  black  year  on  you ! "  came 
the  answer  from  the  cellar  below.  It  was  the 
voice  of  her  uncle,  Moisheh  Rifkin. 

"Oi  weh!"  she  shrugged  young  shoulders, 
wearied  by  joyless  toil.  "He's  beginning  with 
his  hollering  already."  And  she  hurried  down. 

"You  piece  of  earth!  Worms  should  eat  you! 
How  long  does  it  take  you  to  wash  up  the 
stairs  ? "  he  stormed.  "  Yesterday,  the  eating  was 
burned  to  coal;  and  to-day  you  forget  the  salt." 

"What  a  fuss  over  a  little  less  salt!" 

"  In  the  Talmud  it  stands  a  man  has  a  right 
to  divorce  his  wife  for  only  forgetting  him  the 
salt  in  his  soup." 

"Maybe  that's  why  Aunt  Qittel  went  to  the 
grave  before  her  time  —  worrying  how  to  please 
your  taste  in  the  mouth." 

The  old  man's  yellow,  shriveled  face  stared 
up  at  her  out  of  the  gloom.  "What  has  he  from 
37 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

life?  Only  his  pleasure  in  eating  and  going  to  the 
synagogue.  How  long  will  he  live  yet?"  And 
moved  by  a  surge  of  pity,  "Why  can't  I  be  a 
little  kind  to  him?" 

"  Did  you  chop  me  some  herring  and  onions  ?  " 
he  interrupted  harshly. 

She  flushed  with  conscious  guilt.  Again  she 
wondered  why  ugly  things  and  ugly  smells  so 
sickened  her. 

"What  don't  you  forget?"  His  voice  ham- 
mered upon  her  ears.  "No  care  lays  in  your 
head.  You're  only  dreaming  in  the  air." 

Her  compassion  was  swept  away  in  a  wave  of 
revolt  that  left  her  trembling.  "I  can't  no  more 
stand  it  from  you !  Get  yourself  somebody  else ! " 
She  was  surprised  at  her  sudden  spirit. 

"You  big  mouth,  you!  That's  your  thanks 
for  saving  you  from  hunger." 

"Two  years  already  I  'm  working  the  nails  off 
my  fingers  and  you  did  n't  give  me  a  cent." 

"Beggerin!  Money  yet,  you  want?  The  min- 
ute you  get  enough  to  eat  you  turn  up  your  head 
with  freshness.  Are  you  used  to  anything  from 
home?  What  were  you  out  there  in  Savel?  The 
38 


HUNGER 

dirt  under  people's  feet.  You're  already  for- 
getting how  you  came  off  from  the  ship  —  a 
bundle  of  rags  full  of  holes.  If  you  lived  in  Rus- 
sia a  hundred  years  would  you  have  lived  to 
wear  a  pair  of  new  shoes  on  your  feet?" 

"Other  girls  come  naked  and  with  nothing 
to  America  and  they  work  themselves  up. 
Everybody  gets  wages  in  America  — 

'  "Americanerin!  Didn't  I  spend  out  enough 
money  on  your  ship-ticket  to  have  a  little  use 
from  you?  A  thunder  should  strike  you!" 

Shenah  Pessah's  eyes  flamed.  Her  broken  fin- 
ger-nails pierced  the  callous  flesh  of  her  hands. 
So  this  was  the  end  —  the  awakening  of  her 
dreams  of  America !  Her  memory  went  back  to 
the  time  her  ship-ticket  came.  In  her  simple 
faith  she  had  really  believed  that  they  wanted 
her  —  her  father's  brother  and  his  wife  who  had 
come  to  the  new  world  before  ever  she  was  born. 
She  thought  they  wanted  to  give  her  a  chance 
for  happiness,  for  life  and  love.  And  then  she 
came —  to  find  the  paralytic  aunt  —  housework 
—  janitor's  drudgery.  Even  after  her  aunt's 
death,  she  had  gone  on  uncomplainingly,  till  her 
39 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

uncle's  nagging  had  worn  down  her  last  shred  of 
self-control. 

"It's  the  last  time  you'll  holler  on  me!"  she 
cried.  "You  '11  never  see  my  face  again  if  I  got  to 
go  begging  in  the  street."  Seizing  her  shawl,  she 
rushed  out.  "Woe  is  me!  Bitter  is  me!  For  what 
is  my  life?  Why  did  n't  the  ship  go  under  and 
drown  me  before  I  came  to  America?" 

Through  the  streets,  like  a  maddened  thing, 
she  raced,  not  knowing  where  she  was  going, 
not  caring.  "For  what  should  I  keep  on  suffer- 
ing? Who  needs  me?  Who  wants  me?  I  got  no- 
body—  nobody!" 

And  then  the  vision  of  the  face  she  worshiped 
flashed  before  her.  His  beautiful  kindness  that 
had  once  warmed  her  into  new  life  breathed 
over  her  again.  "Why  did  he  ever  come  but  to 
lift  me  out  of  my  darkness  into  his  light?" 

Instinctively  her  eyes  sought  the  rift  of  blue 
above  the  tenement  roofs  and  were  caught  by 
a  boldly  printed  placard:  "HANDS  WANTED." 
It  was  as  though  the  sign  swung  open  on  its 
hinges  like  a  door  and  arms  stretched  out  in- 
viting her  to  enter.  From  the  sign  she  looked  to 
40 


HUNGER 

her  own  hands  —  vigorous,  young  hands — • 
made  strong  through  toil. 

Hope  leaped  within  her.  "Maybe  I  got  yet 
luck  to  have  it  good  in  this  world.  Ach!  God 
from  the  sky!  I  'm  so  burning  to  live  —  to  work 
myself  up  for  a  somebody!  And  why  not?" 
With  clenched  fist  she  smote  her  bosom.  "Ain't 
everything  possible  in  the  new  world?  Why  is 
America  but  to  give  me  the  chance  to  lift  up 
my  head  with  everybody  alike?" 

Her  feet  scarcely  touched  the  steps  as  she  ran 
up.  But  when  she  reached  the  huge,  iron  door  of 
Cohen  Brothers,  a  terror  seized  her.  "Oi  weh! 
They'll  give  a  look  on  my  greenhorn  rags,  and 
down  I  go — For  what  are  you  afraid,  you  fool  ?  " 
she  commanded  herself.  "You  come  not  to  beg. 
They  need  hands.  Don't  the  sign  say  so?  And 
you  got  good,  strong  hands  that  can  turn  over 
the  earth  with  their  strength.  America  is  before 
you.  You'll  begin  to  earn  money.  You'll  dress 
yourself  up  like  a  person  and  men  will  fall  on 
their  knees  to  make  love  to  you  —  even  him  — 
himself!" 

All  fear  had  left  her.  She  flung  open  the  door 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

and  beheld  the  wonder  of  a  factory  —  people  — 
people  — •  seas  of  bent  heads  and  busy  hands 
of  people  —  the  whirr  of  machinery  —  flying 
belts — the  clicking  clatter  of  whirling  wheels — 
all  seemed  to  blend  and  fuse  into  one  surging 
song  of  hope  —  of  new  life — a  new  world — 
America ! 

A  man,  his  arms  heaped  with  a  bundle  of 
shirts,  paused  at  sight  of  the  radiant  face.  Her 
ruddy  cheeks,  the  film  of  innocence  shining  out 
of  eyes  that  knew  no  guile,  carried  him  back  to 
the  green  fields  and  open  plains  of  his  native 
Russia. 

"Her  mother's  milk  is  still  fresh  on  her  lips," 
he  murmured,  as  his  gaze  enveloped  her. 

The  bundle  slipped  and  fell  to  her  feet.  Their 
eyes  met  in  spontaneous  recognition  of  common 
race.  With  an  embarrassed  laugh  they  stooped 
to  gather  up  the  shirts. 

"  I  seen  downstairs  hands  wanted,"  came  in  a 
faltering  voice. 

"Then  you're  looking  for  work?"  he  ques- 
tioned with  keen  interest.  She  was  so  different 
from  the  others  he  had  known  in  his  five  years 
42 


HUNGER 

in  this  country.  He  was  seized  with  curiosity  to 
know  more. 

"You  ain't  been  long  in  America?"  His  tone 
was  an  unconscious  caress. 

"Two  years  already,"  she  confessed.  "But  I 
ain't  so  green  like  I  look,"  she  added  quickly, 
overcome  by  the  old  anxiety. 

"Trust  yourself  on  me,"  Sam  Arkin  assured 
her.  "  I  'm  a  feller  that  knows  himself  on  a  per- 
son first  off .  I  '11  take  you  to  the  office  myself. 
Wait  only  till  I  put  away  these  things." 

Grinning  with  eagerness,  he  returned  and  to- 
gether they  sought  the  foreman. 

"Good  luck  to  you!  I  hope  you'll  be  pushed 
up  soon  to  my  floor,"  Sam  Arkin  encouraged,  as 
he  hurried  back  to  his  machine. 

Because  of  the  rush  of  work  and  the  scarcity 
of  help,  Shenah  Pessah  was  hired  without  delay. 
Atremble  with  excitement,  she  tiptoed  after  the 
foreman  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  workroom. 

"Here,  Sadie  Kranz,  is  another  learner  for 
you."  He  addressed  a  big-bosomed  girl,  the  most 
skillful  worker  in  the  place. 

"Another  greenhorn  with  a  wooden  head!" 
43 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

she  whispered  to  her  neighbor  as  Shenah  Pessah 
removed  her  shawl.  "Gevalt!  All  these  green- 
horn hands  tear  the  bread  from  our  mouths  by 
begging  to  work  so  cheap." 

But  the  dumb  appeal  of  the  immigrant 
stirred  vague  memories  in  Sadie  Kranz.  As  she 
watched  her  run  her  first  seam,  she  marveled  at 
her  speed.  "I  got  to  give  it  to  you,  you  have  a 
quick  head."  There  was  conscious  condescension 
in  her  praise. 

Shenah  Pessah  lifted  a  beaming  face.  "How 
kind  it  was  from  you  to  learn  me!  You  good 
heart!" 

No  one  had  ever  before  called  Sadie  Kranz 
"good  heart."  The  words  lingered  pleasantly. 

"Ut!  I  like  to  help  anybody,  so  long  it  don't 
cost  me  nothing.  I  get  paid  by  the  week  any- 
how," she  half  apologized. 

Shenah  Pessah  was  so  thrilled  with  the  nov- 
elty of  the  work,  the  excitement  of  mastering 
the  intricacies  of  her  machine,  that  she  did 
not  realize  that  the  day  was  passed  until  the  bell 
rang,  the  machines  came  to  a  halt,  and  the 
"hands"  made  a  wild  rush  for  the  cloak-room. 


HUNGER 

"Oi  weh!  Is  it  a  fire?"  Shenah  Pessah 
blanched  with  dread. 

Loud  laughter  quelled  her  fears.  "Greenie! 
It's  six  o'clock.  Time  to  go  home,"  chorused  the 
voices. 

"Home?"  The  cry  broke  from  her.  "Where 
will  I  go?  I  got  no  home."  She  stood  bewil- 
dered, in  the  fast-dwindling  crowd  of  workers. 
Each  jostling  by  her  had  a  place  to  go.  Of 
them  all,  she  alone  was  friendless,  shelterless ! 

"Help  me  find  a  place  to  sleep ! "  she  implored, 
seizing  Sadie  Kranz  by  the  sleeve  of  her  velvet 
coat.  "I  got  no  people.  I  ran  away." 

Sadie  Kranz  narrowed  her  eyes  at  the  girl.  A 
feeling  of  pity  crept  over  her  at  sight  of  the  out- 
stretched, hungry  hands. 

"I'll  fix  you  by  me  for  the  while."  And  tak- 
ing the  shawl  off  the  shelf,  she  tossed  it  to  the 
forlorn  bundle  of  rags.  "  Come  along.  You  must 
be  starved  for  some  eating." 

As  Shenah  Pessah  entered  the  dingy  hall- 
room  which  Sadie  Kranz  called  home,  its  chill 
and  squalor  carried  her  back  to  the  janitor's 
basement  she  had  left  that  morning.  In  si- 
45 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

lence  she  watched  her  companion  prepare  the 
hot  dogs  and  potatoes  on  the  oil-stove  atop 
the  trunk.  Such  pressing  sadness  weighed  upon 
her  that  she  turned  from  even  the  smell  of 
food. 

"My  heart  pulls  me  so  to  go  back  to  my 
uncle."  She  swallowed  hard  her  crust  of  black 
bread.  "He's  so  used  to  have  me  help  him. 
What '11  he  do  — alone?" 

"You  got  to  look  out  for  yourself  in  this 
world."  Sadie  Kranz  gesticulated  with  a  hot 
potato.  "With  your  quickness,  you  got  a  chance 
to  make  money  and  buy  clothes.  You  can  go 
to  shows  —  dances.  And  who  knows  —  maybe 
meet  a  man  to  get  married." 

"Married?  You  know  how  it  burns  in  every 
girl  to  get  herself  married  —  that 's  how  it  burns 
in  me  to  work  myself  up  for  a  person." 

"Ut !  For  what  need  you  to  work  yourself  up. 
Better  marry  yourself  up  to  a  rich  feller  and 
you 're  fixed  for  life." 

"But  him  I  want  —  he  ain't  just  a  man.  He 
is-—"  She  paused   seeking  for  words  and  a 
mist  of  longing  softened  the  heavy  peasant 
46 


HUNGER 

features.  "He  is  the  golden  hills  on  the  sky.  I  'm 
as  far  from  him  as  the  earth  is  from  the  stars." 

"Yok !  Why  wills  itself  in  you  the  stars  ?"  her 
companion  ridiculed  between  swallows. 

Shenah  Pessah  flung  out  her  hands  with  Jew- 
ish fervor.  "Can  I  help  it  what's  in  my  heart? 
It  always  longs  in  me  for  the  higher.  Maybe  he 
has  long  ago  forgotten  me,  but  only  one  hope 
drives  in  me  like  madness  —  to  make  myself 
alike  to  him." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  the  truth,"  laughed  Sadie  Kranz, 
fishing  in  the  pot  for  the  last  frankfurter.  "You 
are  a  little  out  of  your  head  —  plain  mehsugeh." 

"Mehsugeh?"  Shenah  Pessah  rose  to  her  feet 
vibrant  with  new  resolve.  "Mehsugeh?"  she 
challenged,  her  peasant  youth  afire  with  am- 
bition. "I'll  yet  show  the  world  what's  in  me. 
I  '11  not  go  back  to  my  uncle  —  till  it  rings  with 
my  name  in  America." 

She  entered  the  factory,  the  next  day,  with  a 
light  in  her  face,  a  sureness  in  her  step  that  made 
all  pause  in  wonder.  "Look  only!  How  high  she 
holds  herself  her  head!  Has  the  matchmaker 
promised  her  a  man?" 
47 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Then  came  her  first  real  triumph.  Shenah 
Pessah  was  raised  above  old  hands  who  had 
been  in  the  shop  for  years  and  made  assistant  to 
Sam  Arkin,  the  man  who  had  welcomed  her 
that  first  day  in  the  factory.  As  she  was  shown 
to  the  bench  beside  him,  she  waited  expectantly 
for  a  word  of  welcome.  None  came.  Instead,  he 
bent  the  closer  to  his  machine  and  the  hand 
that  held  the  shirt  trembled  as  though  he  were 
cold,  though  the  hot  color  flooded  his  face. 

Resolutely,  she  turned  to  her  work.  She  would 
show  him  how  skillful  she  had  become  in  those 
few  weeks.  The  seams  sped  under  her  lightning 
touch  when  a  sudden  clatter  startled  her.  She 
jumped  up  terror-stricken. 

"The  belt!  The  belt  slipped!  But  it's  noth- 
ing, little  bird,"  Sam  Arkin  hastened  to  assure 
her.  "I'll  fix  it."  And  then  the  quick  warning, 
"Sh-h!  The  foreman  is  coming!" 

Accustomed  to  her  uncle's  harsh  bickering, 
this  man's  gentleness  overwhelmed  her.  There 
was  something  she  longed  to  say  that  trembled 
on  her  lips,  but  her  voice  refused  to  come. 

Sam  Arkin,  too,  was  inarticulate.  He  felt 
48 


HUNGER 

he  must  talk  to  her,  must  know  more  of  her. 
Timidly  he  touched  her  sleeve.  "Lunch-time  — 
here  —  wait  for  me,"  he  whispered,  as  the  fore- 
man approached. 

A  shrill  whistle  —  the  switch  thrown  —  the 
slowing-down  of  the  machines,  then  the  deafen- 
ing hush  proclaiming  noon.  Followed  the  scrap- 
ing of  chairs,  raucous  voices,  laughter,  and  the 
rush  on  the  line  to  reach  the  steaming  cauldron. 
One  by  one,  as  their  cups  of  tea  were  rilled,  the 
hungry  workers  dispersed  into  groups.  Seated 
on  window-sills,  table-tops,  machines,  and  bales 
of  shirts,  they  munched  black  bread  and  her- 
ring and  sipped  tea  from  saucers.  And  over  all 
rioted  the  acrid  odor  of  garlic  and  onions. 

Rebecca  Feist,  the  belle  of  the  shop,  pulled 
up  the  sleeve  of  her  Georgette  waist  and  glanced 
down  at  her  fifty-nine-cent  silk  stocking.  "A  lot 
it  pays  for  a  girl  to  kill  herself  to  dress  stylish. 
Give  only  a  look  on  Sam  Arkin,  how  stuck  he  is 
on  that  new  hand." 

There  followed  a  chorus  of  voices.  "Such 
freshness !  We  been  in  the  shop  so  long  and  she 
49 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

just  gives  a  come-in  and  grabs  the  cream  as  if 
it 'scorning  to  her." 

"It's  her  innocent-looking  baby  eyes  that 
fools  him  in — " 

"Innocent!  Pfui!  These  make-believe  inno- 
cent girls!  Leave  it  to  them!  They  know  how 
to  shine  themselves  up  to  a  feller!" 

Bleemah  Levine,  a  stoop-shouldered,  old 
hand,  grown  gray  with  the  grayness  of  unre- 
lieved drudgery,  cast  a  furtive  look  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  couple.  "Ach!  The  little  bit  of 
luck!  Not  looks,  not  smartness,  but  only  luck, 
and  the  world  falls  to  your  feet."  Her  lips  tight- 
ened with  envy.  "It's  her  greenhorn,  red 
cheeks  — " 

Rebecca  Feist  glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror 
of  her  vanity  bag.  It  was  a  pretty,  young  face, 
but  pale  and  thin  from  undernourishment. 
Adroitly  applying  a  lip-stick,  she  cried  indig- 
nantly: "I  wish  I  could  be  such  a  false  thing 
like  her.  But  only,  I  'm  too  natural  —  the  hypo- 
crite!" 

Sadie  Kranz  rose  to  her  friend's  defense. 
"What  are  you  falling  on  her  like  a  pack  of  wild 
So 


HUNGER 

dogs,  just  because  Sam  Arkin  gives  a  smile  on 
her?  He  ain't  marrying  her  yet,  is  he?" 

"We  don't  say  nothing  against  her,"  re- 
torted Rebecca  Feist,  tapping  her  diamond- 
buckled  foot,  "only,  she  pushes  herself  too 
much.  Give  her  a  finger  and  she'll  grab  your 
whole  hand.  Is  there  a  limit  to  the  pushings  of 
such  a  green  animal  ?  Only  a  while  ago,  she  was 
a  learner,  a  nobody,  and  soon  she  '11  jump  over 
all  our  heads  and  make  herself  for  a  forelady." 

Sam  Arkin,  seated  beside  Shenah  Pessah  on 
the  window-sill,  had  forgotten  that  it  was  lunch- 
hour  and  that  he  was  savagely  hungry.  "It 
shines  so  from  your  eyes,"  he  beamed.  "What 
happy  thoughts  lay  in  your  head?" 

"Ach!  When  I  give  myself  a  look  around  on 
all  the  people  laughing  and  talking,  it  makes  me 
so  happy  I  'm  one  of  them." 

"Ut!  These  Americanerins !  Their  heads  is 
only  on  ice-cream  soda  and  style." 

"But  it  makes  me  feel  so  grand  to  be  with  all 
these  hands  alike.  It's  as  if  I  just  got  out  from 
the  choking  prison  into  the  open  air  of  my  own 
people." 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

She  paused  for  breath  —  a  host  of  memories 
overpowering  her.  "  I  can't  give  it  out  in  words," 
she  went  on.  "But  just  as  there  ain't  no  bottom 
to  being  poor,  there  ain't  no  bottom  to  being 
lonely.  Before,  everything  I  done  was  alone, 
by  myself.  My  heart  hurt  so  with  hunger  for 
people.  But  here,  in  the  factory,  I  feel  I  'm  with 
everybody  together.  Just  the  sight  of  people 
lifts  me  on  wings  in  the  air." 

Opening  her  bag  of  lunch  which  had  lain  un- 
heeded in  her  lap,  she  turned  to  him  with  a 
queer,  little  laugh,  "  I  don't  know  why  I  'm  so 
talking  myself  out  to  you  — " 

"Only  talk  more.  I  want  to  know  everything 
about  yourself."  An  aching  tenderness  rushed 
out  of  his  heart  to  her,  and  in  his  grave  sim- 
plicity he  told  her  how  he  had  overheard  one  of 
the  girls  say  that  she,  Shenah  Pessah,  looked 
like  a  "greeneh  yenteh,"  just  landed  from  the 
ship,  so  that  he  cried  out,  "Gottuniu!  If  only 
the  doves  from  the  sky  were  as  beautiful!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  solemnly  —  the 
girl's  lips  parted,  her  eyes  wide  and  serious. 

"That  first  day  I  came  to  the  shop,  the  min- 
52 


HUNGER 

ute  I  gave  a  look  on  you,  I  felt  right  away,  here's 
somebody  from  home.  I  used  to  tremble  so  to 
talk  to  a  man,  but  you  —  you  —  I  could  talk 
myself  out  to  you  like  thinking  in  myself." 

"You're  all  soft  silk  and  fine  velvet,"  he 
breathed  reverently.  "In  this  hard  world,  how 
could  such  fineness  be?" 

An  embarrassed  silence  fell  between  them  as 
she  knotted  and  unknotted  her  colored  kerchief. 

"I'll  take  you  home?  Yes?"  he  found  voice 
at  last. 

Under  lowered  lashes  she  smiled  her  consent. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  downstairs,  closing  time." 
And  he  was  gone. 

The  noon  hour  was  not  yet  over,  but  Shenah 
Pessah  returned  to  her  machine.  "Shall  I  tell 
him?"  she  mused.  "Sam  Arkin  understands  so 
much,  shall  I  tell  him  of  this  man  that  burns  in 
me?  If  I  could  only  give  out  to  some  one  about 
him  in  my  heart  —  it  would  make  me  a  little 
clear  in  the  head."  She  glanced  at  Sam  Arkin 
furtively.  "He's  kind,  but  could  he  understand? 
I  only  made  a  fool  from  myself  trying  to  tell 
Sadie  Kranz."  All  at  once  she  began  to  sob  with- 
.53 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

out  reason.  She  ran  to  the  cloak-room  and  hid 
from  prying  eyes,  behind  the  shawls  and  wraps. 
The  emptiness  of  all  for  which  she  struggled 
pressed  upon  her  like  a  dead  weight,  dragging 
her  down,  down  —  the  reaction  of  her  ecstasy. 

As  the  gong  sounded,  she  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  pull  herself  together  and  returned  to  her 
work. 

The  six  o'clock  whistles  still  reverberated 
when  Sam  Arkin  hurried  down  the  factory 
stairs  and  out  to  the  comer  where  he  was  to 
meet  Shenah  Pessah.  He  cleared  his  throat  to 
greet  her  as  she  came,  but  all  he  managed  was  a 
bashful  grin.  She  was  so  near,  so  real,  and  he  had 
so  much  to  say  —  if  he  only  knew  how  to  begin. 

He  cracked  his  knuckles  and  bit  his  finger- 
tips, but  no  words  came.  "Ach!  You  yok!  Why 
ain't  you  saying  something?"  He  wrestled  with 
his  shyness  in  vain.  The  tense  silence  remained 
unbroken  till  they  reached  her  house. 

"  I  'm  sorry  "  —  Shenah  Pessah  colored  apolo- 
getically—  "But  I  got  no  place  to  invite  you. 
My  room  is  hardly  big  enough  for  a  push-in  of 
one  person." 

54 


HUNGER 

"What  say  you  to  a  bite  of  eating  with  me?" 
he  blurted. 

She  thought  of  her  scant  supper  upstairs  and 
would  have  responded  eagerly,  but  glancing 
down  at  her  clothes,  she  hesitated.  "Could  I  go 
dressed  like  this  in  a  restaurant?" 

"You  look  grander  plain,  like  you  are,  than 
those  twisted  up  with  style.  I  '11  take  you  to  the 
swellest  restaurant  on  Grand  Street  and  be 
proud  with  you!" 

She  flushed  with  pleasure.  "Nu,  come  on, 
then.  It's  good  to  have  a  friend  that  knows  him- 
self on  what 's  in  you  and  not  what 's  on  you,  but 
still,  when  I  go  to  a  place,  I  like  to  be  dressed 
like  a  person  so  I  can  feel  like  a  person." 

"You'll  yet  live  to  wear  diamonds  that  will 
shine  up  the  street  when  you  pass!"  he  cried. 

^Through  streets  growing  black  with  swarm- 
ing crowds  of  toil-released  workers  they  made 
their  way.  Sam  Arkin's  thick  hand  rested  with 
a  lightness  new  to  him  upon  the  little  arm 
tucked  under  his.  The  haggling  pushcart  ped- 
dlers, the  newsboys  screaming,  "Tageblatt, 
Abendblatt,  Herold,"  the  roaring  noises  of  the 
55 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

elevated  trains  resounded  the  paean  of  joy 
swelling  his  heart. 

"America  was  good  to  me,  but  I  never  guessed 
how  good  till  now."  The  words  were  out  before 
he  knew  it.  "Tell  me  only,  what  pulled  you  to 
this  country?" 

"What  pulls  anybody  here?  The  hope  for  the 
better.  People  who  got  it  good  in  the  old  world 
don't  hunger  for  the  new." 

A  mist  filled  her  eyes  at  memory  of  her  na- 
tive village.  "How  I  suffered  in  Savel.  I  never 
had  enough  to  eat.  I  never  had  shoes  on  my 
feet.  I  Lhad  to  go  barefoot  even  in  the  freezing 
winter.  But  still  I  love  it.  I  was  born  th^re.  I 
love  the  houses  and  the  straw  roofs,  the  mud 
streets,  the  cows,  the  chickens  and  the  goats. 
My  heart  always  hurts  me  for  what  is  no  more." 

The  brilliant  lights  of  Levy's  Cafe  brought 
her  back  to  Grand  Street. 

"Here  is  it."  He  led  her  in  and  over  to  a  cor- 
ner table.  "Chopped  herring  and  onions  for 
two,"  he  ordered  with  a  flourish. 

"Ain't  there  some  American  eating  on  the 
card?"  interposed  Shenah  Pessah. 
56 


HUNGER 

He  laughed  indulgently.  "  If  I  lived  in  America 
for  a  hundred  years  I  could  n't  get  used  to  the 
American  eating.  What  can  make  the  mouth  so 
water  like  the  taste  and  the  smell  from  herring 
and  onions?" 

"There's  something  in  me  —  I  can't  help  — 
that  so  quickly  takes  on  to  the  American  taste. 
ItVas  if  my  outside  skin  only  was  Russian;  the 
heart  in  me  is  for  everything  of  the  new  world 
—  even  the  eating." 

"Nu,  I  got  nothing  to  complain  against 
America.  I  don't  like  the  American  eating,  but 
I  like  the  American  dollar.  Look  only  on  me!" 
He  expanded  his  chest.  "I  came  to  America  a 
ragged  nothing  —  and  —  see  —  "  He  exhibited 
a  bank-book  in  four  figures,  gesticulating 
grandly,  "And  I  learned  in  America  how  to 
sign  my  name!" 

"Did  it  come  hard  to  learn?"  she  asked  under 
her  breath. 

"Hard?"  His  face  purpled  with  excitement. 

"It  would  be  easier  for  me  to  lift  up  this  whole 

house  on  my  shoulders  than  to  make  one  little 

dot  of  a  letter.  When  I  took  my  pencil  —  Oi 

57 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

weh!  The  sweat  would  break  out  on  my  face! 
'I  can't,  I  can't!'  I  cried,  but  something  in  me 
jumped  up.  'You  can  —  you  yok  — •  you  must!' 
—  Six  months,  night  after  night,  I  stuck  to  it  — • 
and  I  learned  to  twist  around  the  little  black 
hooks  till  it  means  —  me  —  Sam  Arkin." 

He  had  the  rough-hewn  features  of  the  com- 
mon people,  but  he  lifted  his  head  with  the 
pride  of  a  king.  "  Since  I  can  write  out  my  name, 
I  feel  I  can  do  anything.  I  can  sign  checks,  put 
money  in  the  bank,  or  take  it  out  without  no- 
body to  help  me." 

As  Shenah  Pessah  listened,  unconsciously 
she  compared  Sam  Arkin,  glowing  with  the 
frank  conceit  of  the  self-made  man,  his  neg- 
lected teeth,  thick,  red  lips,  with  that  of  the 
Other  One  —  made  ever  more  beautiful  with 
longings  and  dreams. 

"But  in  all  these  black  years,  I  was  always 
hoping  to  get  to  the  golden  country,"  Sam 
Arkin's  voice  went  on,  but  she  heard  it  as  from 
afar.  "Before  my  eyes  was  always  the  shine  of 
the  high  wages  and  the  easy  money  and  I  kept 
pushing  myself  from  one  city  to  another,  and 
58 


HUNGER 

saving  and  saving  till  I  saved  up  enough  for  my 
ship-ticket  to  the  new  world.  And  then  when  I 
landed  here,  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  cock- 
roach boss." 

"  A  cockroach  boss?"  she  questioned  absently 
and  reproached  herself  for  her  inattention. 

"A  black  year  on  him!  He  was  a  landsman, 
that's  how  he  fooled  me  in.  He  used  to  come  to 
the  ship  with  a  smiling  face  of  welcome  to  all 
the  greenhorns  what  had  nobody  to  go  to.  And 
then  he'd  put  them  to  work  in  his  sweatshop 
and  sweat  them  into  their  grave." 

"Don't  I  know  it?"  she  cried  with  quickened 
understanding.  "Just  like  my  uncle,  Moisheh 
Rifkin." 

"The  blood-sucker!"  he  gasped.  "When  I 
think  how  I  slaved  for  him  sixteen  hours  a  day 
—  for  what?  Nothing!" 

She  gently  stroked  his  hand  as  one  might  a 
child  in  pain.  He  looked  up  and  smiled  grate- 
fully. 

"I  want  to  forget  what's  already  over.  I 
got  'enough  money  now  to  start  for  myself  — 
maybe  a  tailor-shop  —  and  soon  —  I  —  I  want 
59 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

to  marry  myself  —  but  none  of  those  crazy 
chickens  for  me."  And  he  seemed  to  draw  her 
unto  himself  by  the  intensity  of  his  gaze. 

Growing  bolder,  he  exclaimed:  "I  got  a 
grand  idea.  It's  Monday  and  the  bank  is  open 
yet  till  nine  o'clock.  I'll  write  over  my  bank- 
book on  your  name?  Yes?" 

"My  name?"  She  fell  back,  dumbstruck. 

"Yes  — •  you  —  everything  I  only  got  — • 
you — "he  mumbled.  "I'll  give  you  dove's 
milk  to  drink  —  silks  and  diamonds  to  wear  — 
you'll  hold  all  my  money." 

She  was  shaken  by  this  supreme  proof  of  his 
devotion. 

"But  I  —  I  can't  —  I  got  to  work  myself  up 
for  a  person.  I  got  a  head.  I  got  ideas.  I  can 
catch  on  to  the  Americans  quicker'n  lightning." 

"My  money  can  buy  you  everything.  I'll 
buy  you  teachers.  I'll  buy  you  a  piano.  I'll 
make  you  for  a  lady.  Right  away  you  can  stop 
from  work."  He  leaned  toward  her,  his  eyes 
welling  with  tears  of  earnestness. 

"Take  your  hard-earned  money?  Could  I  be 
such  a  beggerin?" 

60 


HUNGER 

"God  from  the  world!  You  are  dearer  to  me 
than  the  eyes  from  my  head !  I  'd  give  the  blood 
from  under  my  nails  for  you!  I  want  only  to 
work  for  you  —  to  live  for  you  —  to  die  for 
you — "  He  was  spent  with  the  surge  of  his 
emotion. 

Ach!  To  be  loved  as  Sam  Arkin  loved!  She 
covered  her  eyes,  but  it  only  pressed  upon  her 
the  more.  Home,  husband,  babies,  a  bread- 
giver  for  life! 

And  the  Other  —  a  dream  —  a  madness  that 
burns  you  up  alive.  "You  might  as  well  want  to 
marry  yourself  to  the  President  of  America  as 
to  want  him.  But  I  can't  help  it.  Him  and  him 
only  I  want." 

She  looked  up  again.  "No  —  no!"  she  cried, 
cruel  in  the  self-absorption  of  youth  and  ambi- 
tion. "You  can't  make  me  for  a  person.  It's  not 
only  that  I  got  to  go  up  higher,  but  I  got  to  push 
myself  up  by  myself,  by  my  own  strength  — 

"Nu,  nu,"  he  sobbed.  "I'll  not  bother  you 
with  me  —  only  give  you  my  everything.  My 
bank-book  is  more  than  my  flesh  and  blood  — 
only  take  it,  to  do  what  you  want  with  it." 
61 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Her  eyes  deepened  with  humility.  "I  know 
your  goodness  —  but  there's  something  like  a 
wall  around  me  —  him  in  my  heart." 

"Him?"  The  word  hurled  itself  at  him  like  a 
bomb-shell.  He  went  white  with  pain.  And  even 
she,  immersed  in  her  own  thoughts,  lowered  her 
head  before  the  dumb  suffering  on  his  face.  She 
felt  she  owed  it  to  him  to  tell  him. 

"I  wanted  to  talk  myself  out  to  you  about 
him  yet  before.  —  He  ain't  just  a  man.  He  is  all 
that  I  want  to  be  and  am  not  yet.  He  is  the 
hunger  of  me  for  the  life  that  ain't  just  eating 
and  sleeping  and  slaving  for  bread." 

She  pushed  back  her  chair  and  rose  abruptly. 
"I  can't  be  inside  walls  when  I  talk  of  him.  I 
need  the  earth,  the  whole  free  sky  to  breathe 
when  I  think  of  him.  Come  out  in  the  air." 

They  walked  for  a  time  before  either  spoke. 
Sam  Arkin  followed  where  she  led  through  the 
crooked  labyrinth  of  streets.  The  sight  of  the 
young  mothers  with  their  nursing  infants  pressed 
to  their  bared  bosoms  stabbed  anew  his  hurt. 

Shenah  Pessah,  blind  to  all  but  the  vision 
that  obsessed  her,  talked  on.  "All  that  my 
62 


HUNGER 

mother  and  father  and  my  mother's  mother 
and  father  ever  wanted  to  be  is  in  him.  This  fire 
in  me,  it's  not  just  the  hunger  of  a  woman  for 
a  man  —  it 's  the  hunger  of  all  my  people  back  of 
me,  from  all  ages,  for  light,  for  the  life  higher!" 

A  veil  of  silence  fell  between  them.  She  felt 
almost  as  if  it  were  a  sacrilege  to  have  spoken  of 
that  which  was  so  deeply  centered  within  her. 

Sam  Arkin's  face  became  lifeless  as  clay. 
Bowed  like  an  old  man,  he  dragged  his  leaden 
feet  after  him.  The  world  was  dead  —  cold  — 
meaningless.  Bank-book,  money  —  of  what  use 
were  they  now  ?  All  his  years  of  saving  could  n't 
win  her.  He  was  suffocated  in  emptiness. 

On  they  walked  till  they  reached  a  deserted 
spot  in  the  park.  So  spent  was  he  by  his  sorrow 
that  he  lost  the  sense  of  time  or  place  or  that 
she  was  near. 

Leaning  against  a  tree,  he  stood,  dumb, 
motionless,  unutterable  bewilderment  in  his 
sunken  eyes. 

"I  lived  over  the  hunger  for  bread  —  but 
this — "He  clutched  at  his  aching  bosom. 
63 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Highest  One,  help  me!"  With  his  face'to  the 
ground  he  sank,  prostrate. 

"Sam  Arkin!"  She  bent  over  him  tenderly. 
"I  feel  the  emptiness  of  words  —  but  I  got  to 
get  it  out.  All  that  you  suffer  I  have  suffered, 
and  must  yet  go  on  suffering.  I  see  no  end. 
But  only  —  there  is  a  something  —  a  hope  — 
a  help  out  —  it  lifts  me  on  top  of  my  hungry 
body  —  the  hunger  to  make  from  myself  a  per- 
son that  can't  be  crushed  by  nothing  nor  no- 
body —  the  life  higher!" 

Slowly,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  drawn  from  his 
weakness  by  the  spell  of  her.  "With  one  hand 
you  throw  me  down  and  with  the  other  you  lift 
me  up  to  life  again.  Say  to  me  only  again,  your 
words,"  he  pleaded,  helplessly. 

"Sam  Arkin!  Give  yourself  your  own 
strength!"  She  shook  him  roughly.  "I  got  no 
pity  on  you,  no  more  than  I  got  pity  on  me." 

He  saw  her  eyes  fill  with  light  as  though  she 
were  seeing  something  far  beyond  them  both. 
"This,"  she  breathed,  "is  only  the  beginning  of 
the  hunger  that  will  make  from  you  a  person 
who'll  yet  ring  in  America." 


THE  LOST  "BEAUTIFULNESS" 

"OIWEH!  How  it  shines  the  beautifulness!" 
exulted  Hanneh  Hayyeh  over  her  newly 
painted  kitchen.  She  cast  a  glance  full  of  wor- 
ship and  adoration  at  the  picture  of  her  son  in 
uniform ;  eyes  like  her  own,  shining  with  eager- 
ness, with  joy  of  life,  looked  back  at  her. 

"  Aby  will  not  have  to  shame  himself  to  come 
back  to  his  old  home,"  she  rejoiced,  clapping 
her  hands  —  hands  blistered  from  the  paint- 
brush and  calloused  from  rough  toil.  "Now 
he  '11  be  able  to  invite  all  the  grandest  friends  he 
made  in  the  army." 

The  smell  of  the  paint  was  suffocating,  but 
she  inhaled  in  it  huge  draughts  of  hidden 
beauty.  For  weeks  she  had  dreamed  of  it  and 
felt  in  each  tin  of  paint  she  was  able  to  buy,  in 
each  stroke  of  the  brush,  the  ecstasy  of  loving 
service  for  the  son  she  idolized. 

Ever  since  she  first  began  to  wash  the  fine 
silks  and  linens  for  Mrs.  Preston,  years  ago,  it 
65 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

had  been  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  ambition  to  have  a 
white-painted  kitchen  exactly  like  that  in  the 
old  Stuyvesant  Square  mansion.  Now  her  own 
kitchen  was  a  dream  come  true. 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  ran  in  to  her  husband,  a 
stoop-shouldered,  care-crushed  man  who  was 
leaning  against  the  bed,  his  swollen  feet  out- 
stretched, counting  the  pennies  that  totaled  his 
day's  earnings. 

"Jake  Safransky!"  she  cried  excitedly,  "you 
got  to  come  in  and  give  a  look  on  my  painting 
before  you  go  to  sleep." 

"Oi,  let  me  alone.  Give  me  only  a  rest." 
Too  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of  achievement 
to  take  no  for  an  answer,  she  dragged  him  into 
the  doorway.  "Nu?  How  do  you  like  it?  Do  I 
know  what  beautiful  is?" 

"But  how  much  money  did  you  spend  out  on 
that  paint?" 

"It  was  my  own  money,"  she  said,  wiping  the 
perspiration  off  her  face  with  a  corner  of  her 
apron.  "Every  penny  I  earned  myself  from  the 
extra  washing." 

"But  you  had  ought  save  it  up  for  the  bad 
66 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

times.  What '11  you  do  when  the  cold  weather 
starts  in  and  the  pushcart  will  not  wheel  itself 
out?" 

"I  save  and  pinch  enough  for  myself.  This 
I  done  in  honor  for  my  son.  I  want  my  Aby  to 
lift  up  his  head  in  the  world.  I  want  him  to  be 
able  to  invite  even  the  President  from  America 
to  his  home  and  shame  himself." 

"You'd  pull  the  bananas  off  a  blind  man's 
pushcart  to  bring  to  your  Aby.  You  know 
nothing  from  holding  tight  to  a  dollar  and  sav- 
ing a  penny  to  a  penny  like  poor  people  should." 

"What  do  I  got  from  living  if  I  can't  have  a 
little  beautifulness  in  my  life?  I  don't  allow  for 
myself  the  ten  cents  to  go  to  a  moving  picture 
that  I  'm  crazy  to  see.  I  never  yet  treated  my- 
self to  an  ice-cream  soda  even  for  a  holiday.  Shin- 
ing up  the  house  for  Aby  is  my  only  pleasure." 

"Yah,  but  it  ain't  your  house.  It's  the  land- 
lord's." 

"Don't  I  live  in  it?  I  soak  in  pleasure  from 
every  inch  of  my  kitchen.  Why,  I  could  kiss  the 
grand  white  color  on  the  walls.  It  lights  up  my 
eyes  like  sunshine  in  the  room." 
67 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Her  glance  traveled  from  the  newly  painted 
walls  to  the  geranium  on  the  window-sill,  and 
back  to  her  husband's  face. 

"Jake!"  she  cried,  shaking  him,  "ain't  you 
got  eyes?  How  can  you  look  on  the  way  it 
dances  the  beautifulness  from  every  corner  and 
not  jump  in  the  air  from  happiness?" 

"I'm  only  thinking  on  the  money  you  spent 
out  on  the  landlord's  house.  Look  only  on  me! 
I  'm  black  from  worry,  but  no  care  lays  on  your 
head.  It  only  dreams  itself  in  you  how  to  make 
yourself  for  an  American  and  lay  in  every 
penny  you  got  on  fixing  out  the  house  like 
the  rich." 

"I  'm  sick  of  living  like  a  pig  with  my  nose  to 
the  earth,  all  the  time  only  pinching  and  scrap- 
ing for  bread  and  rent.  So  long  my  Aby  is  with 
America,  I  want  to  make  myself  for  an  Amer- 
ican. I  could  tear  the  stars  out  from  heaven  for 
my  Aby's  wish." 

Her  sunken  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes 
glowed  with  light  as  she  gazed  about  her. 

"When  I  see  myself  around  the  house  how  I 
fixed  it  up  with  my  own  hands,  I  forget  I'm 
68 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

only  a  nobody.  It  makes  me  feel  I  'm  also  a  per- 
son like  Mrs.  Preston.  It  lifts  me  with  high 
thoughts." 

"Why  did  n't  you  marry  yourself  to  a  mil- 
lionaire? You  always  want  to  make  yourself  like 
Mrs.  Preston  who  got  millions  laying  in  the 
bank." 

"But  Mrs.  Preston  does  make  me  feel  that 
I  'm  alike  with  her,"  returned  Hanneh  Hayyeh, 
proudly.  "Don't  she  talk  herself  out  to  me  like 
I  was  her  friend?  Mrs.  Preston  says  this  war  is 
to  give  everybody  a  chance  to  lift  up  his  head 
like  a  person.  It  is  to  bring  together  the  people 
on  top  who  got  everything  and  the  people  on 
the  bottom  who  got  nothing.  She 's  been  telling 
me  about  a  new  word  —  democracy.  It  got  me 
on  fire.  Democracy  means  that  everybody  in  „ 
America  is  going  to  be  with  everybody  alike." 

"Och!  Stop  your  dreaming  out  of  your  head. 
Close  up  your  mouth  from  your  foolishness. 
Women  got  long  hair  and  small  brains,"  he 
finished,  muttering  as  he  went  to  bed. 

At  the  busy  gossiping  hour  of  the  following 
morning  when  the  butcher-shop  was  crowded 
69 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

with  women  in  dressing-sacks  and  wrappers 
covered  over  with  shawls,  Hanneh  Hayyeh 
elbowed  her  way  into  the  clamorous  babel  of 
her  neighbors. 

"What  are  you  so  burning?  What  are  you  so 
flaming?" 

"She's  always  on  fire  with  the  wonders  of  her 
son." 

"The  whole  world  must  stop  still  to  listen  to 
what  news  her  son  writes  to  her." 

"She  thinks  her  son  is  the  only  one  soldier  by 
the  American  army." 

"My  Benny  is  also  one  great  wonder  from 
smartness,  but  I  ain't  such  a  crazy  mother  like 
she." 

The  voices  of  her  neighbors  rose  from  every 
corner,  but  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  deaf  to  all,  pro- 
jected herself  forward. 

"What  are  you  pushing  yourself  so  wild? 
You  ain't  going  to  get  your  meat  first.  Ain't  it, 
Mr.  Sopkin,  all  got  to  wait  their  turn?" 

Mr.  Sopkin  glanced  up  in  the  midst  of  cut- 
ting apart  a  quarter  of  meat.  He  wiped  his  knife 
on  his  greasy  apron  and  leaned  across  the  counter. 
70 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

"Nu?  Hanneh  Hayyeh?"  his  ruddy  face 
beamed.  "Have  you  another  letter  from  little 
Aby  in  France?  What  good  news  have  you  got 
to  tell  us?" 

"No  —  it's  not  a  letter,"  she  retorted,  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "The  good  news  is  that 
I  got  done  with  the  painting  of  my  kitchen  — • 
and  you  all  got  to  come  and  give  a  look  how  it 
shines  in  my  house  like  in  a  palace." 

Mr.  Sopkin  resumed  cutting  the  meat. 

"Oi  weh!"  clamored  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  with 
feverish  breathlessness.  "Stop  with  your  meat 
already  and  quick  come.  The  store  ain't  going 
to  run  away  from  you!  It  will  take  only  a  min- 
ute. With  one  step  you  are  upstairs  in  my 
house."  She  flung  out  her  hands.  "And  every- 
body got  to  come  along." 

"Do  you  think  I  can  make  a  living  from 
looking  on  the  wonders  you  turn  over  in  your 
house?"  remonstrated  the  butcher,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Making  money  ain't  everything  in  life.  My 
new-painted  kitchen  will  light  up  your  heart 
with  joy." 

71 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Seeing  that  Mr.  Sopkin  still  made  no  move, 
she  began  to  coax  and  wheedle,  woman-fashion. 
"Oi  weh!  Mr.  Sopkin!  Don't  be  so  mean.  Come 
only.  Your  customers  ain't  going  to  run  away 
from  you.  If  they  do,  they  only  got  to  come 
back,  because  you  ain't  a  skinner.  You  weigh 
the  meat  honest." 

How  could  Mr.  Sopkin  resist  such  seductive 
flattery? 

"Hanneh  Hayyeh!"  he  laughed.  "You're 
crazy  up  in  the  air,  but  nobody  can  say  no  to 
anything  you  take  into  your  head." 

He  tossed  his  knife  down  on  the  counter. 
"Everybody!"  he  called;  "let  us  do  her  the 
pleasure  and  give  a  look  on  what  she  got  to 
show  us." 

"Oi  weh!  I  ain't  got  no  time,"  protested  one. 
"I  left  my  baby  alone  in  the  house  locked  in." 

"And  I  left  a  pot  of  eating  on  the  stove  boil- 
ing. It  must  be  all  burned  away  by  this  time." 

"But  you  all  got  time  to  stand  around  here 

and  chatter  like  a  box  of  monkeys,  for  hours," 

admonished  Mr.  Sopkin.  "This  will  only  take  a 

minute.  You  know  Hanneh  Hayyeh.  We  can't 

72 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

tear  ourselves  away  from  her  till  we  do  what 
wills  itself  in  her  mind." 

Protesting  and  gesticulating,  they  all  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Sopkin  as  Hanneh  Hayyeh  led  the 
way.  Through  the  hallway  of  a  dark,  ill-smell- 
ing tenement,  up  two  flights  of  crooked,  rickety 
stairs,  they  filed.  When  Hanneh  Hayyeh 
opened  the  door  there  were  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  joy:  "Oi!  Oi!"  and  "Ay!  Ay! 
Takeh!Takeh!" 

"Gold  is  shining  from  every  corner!" 

"Like  for  a  holiday!" 

"You  don't  need  to  light  up  the  gas,  so  it 
shines!" 

"I  wish  I  could  only  have  it  so  grand!" 

"You  ain't  got  worries  on  your  head,  so  it 
lays  in  your  mind  to  make  it  so  fancy." 

Mr.  Sopkin  stood  with  mouth  open,  stunned 
with  wonder  at  the  transformation. 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  shook  him  by  the  sleeve 
exultantly.  "Nu?  Why  ain't  you  saying  some- 
thing?" 

"Grand  ain't  the  word  for  it!  What  a  white- 
ness! And  what  a  cleanliness!  It  tears  out  the 
73 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

eyes  from  the  head!  Such  a  tenant  the  land- 
lord ought  to  give  out  a  medal  or  let  down  the 
rent  free.  I  saw  the  rooms  before  and  I  see  them 
now.  What  a  difference  from  one  house  to 
another." 

"Ain't  you  coming  in?"  Hanneh  Hayyeh  be- 
sought her  neighbors. 

"God  from  the  world!  To  step  with  our  feet 
on  this  new  painted  floor?" 

"  Shah ! "  said  the  butcher,  taking  off  his  apron 
and  spreading  it  on  the  floor.  "You  can  all  give 
a  step  on  my  apron.  It's  dirty,  anyhow." 

They  crowded  in  on  the  outspread  apron 
and  vied  with  one  another  in  their  words  of 
praise. 

"May  you  live  to  see  your  son  married  from 
this  kitchen,  and  may  we  all  be  invited  to  the 
wedding!" 

"May  you  live  to  eat  here  cake  and  wine  on 
the  feasts  of  your  grandchildren!" 

"May  you  have  the  luck  to  get  rich  and  move 
from  here  into  your  own  bought  house!" 

"Amen!"  breathed  Hanneh  Hayyeh.  "May 
we  all  forget  from  our  worries  for  rent!" 
74 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

Mrs.  Preston  followed  with  keen  delight 
Hanneh  Hayyeh's  every  movement  as  she 
lifted  the  wash  from  the  basket  and  spread  it  on 
the  bed.  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  rough,  toil-worn 
hands  lingered  lovingly,  caressingly  over  each 
garment.  It  was  as  though  the  fabrics  held 
something  subtly  animate  in  their  texture  that 
penetrated  to  her  very  finger-tips. 

"Hanneh  Hayyeh!  You're  an  artist!"  There 
was  reverence  in  Mrs.  Preston's  low  voice  that 
pierced  the  other  woman's  inmost  being.  "You 
do  my  laces  and  batistes  as  no  one  else  ever  has. 
It's  as  if  you  breathed  part  of  your  soul  into 
it." 

The  hungry-eyed,  ghetto  woman  drank  in 
thirstily  the  beauty  and  goodness  that  radiated 
from  Mrs.  Preston's  person.  None  of  the  cul- 
tured elegance  of  her  adored  friend  escaped 
Hanneh  Hayyeh.  Her  glance  traveled  from  the 
exquisite  shoes  to  the  flawless  hair  of  the  well- 
poised  head. 

"Your  things  got  so  much  fineness.  I  'm  crazy 
for  the  feel  from  them.  I  do  them  up  so  light  in 
my  hands  like  it  was  thin  air  I  was  handling." 
75 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  pantomimed  as  she  spoke 
and  Mrs.  Preston,  roused  from  her  habitual 
reserve,  put  her  fine,  white  hand  affectionately 
over  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  gnarled,  roughened 
ones. 

"Oi-i-i-i!  Mrs.  Preston!  You  always  make  me 
feel  so  grand!"  said  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  a  mist  of 
tears  in  her  wistful  eyes.  "When  I  go  away  from 
you  I  could  just  sit  down  and  cry.  I  can't  give 
it  out  in  words  what  it  is.  It  chokes  me  so  — 
how  good  you  are  to  me  —  You  ain't  at  all  like 
a  rich  lady.  You  're  so  plain  from  the  heart.  You 
make  the  lowest  nobody  feel  he 's  somebody." 

"You  are  not  a  'nobody,'  Hanneh  Hayyeh. 
You  are  an  artist  —  an  artist  laundress." 

"What  mean  you  an  artist?" 

"An  artist  is  so  filled  with  love  for  the  beau- 
tiful that  he  has  to  express  it  in  some  way.  You 
express  it  in  your  washing  just  as  a  painter 
paints  it  in  a  picture." 

"Paint?"  exclaimed  Hanneh  Hayyeh.   "If 

you  could  only  give  a  look  how  I  painted  up  my 

kitchen!  It  lights  up  the  whole  tenement  house 

for  blocks  around.  The  grocer  and  the  butcher 

76 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

and  all  the  neighbors  were  jumping  in  the  air 
from  wonder  and  joy  when  they  seen  how  I 
shined  up  my  house." 

"And  all  in  honor  of  Aby's  home-coming?" 
Mrs.  Preston  smiled,  her  thoughts  for  a  moment 
on  her  own  son,  the  youngest  captain  in  his 
regiment  whose  home-coming  had  been  delayed 
from  week  to  week. 

"Everything  I  do  is  done  for  my  Aby," 
breathed  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  her  hands  clasping 
her  bosom  as  if  feeling  again  the  throb  of  his 
babyhood  at  her  heart.  "But  this  painting  was 
already  dreaming  itself  in  my  head  for  years. 
You  remember  the  time  the  hot  iron  fell  on  my 
foot  and  you  came  to  see  me  and  brought  me  a 
red  flower-pot  wrapped  around  with  green  crepe 
paper?  That  flower-pot  opened  up  the  sky  in  my 
kitchen."  The  words  surged  from  the  seething 
soul  of  her.  "Right  away  I  saw  before  my  eyes 
how  I'could  shine  up  my  kitchen  like  a  parlor  by 
painting  the  walls  and  sewing  up  new  curtains  for 
the  window.  It  was  like  seeing  before  me  your 
face  every  time  I  looked  on  your  flowers.  I  used 
to  talk  to  it  like  it  could  hear  and  feel  and  see. 
77 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

And  I  said  to  it:  'I'll  show  you  what's  in  me. 
I'll  show  you  that  I  know  what  beautiful  is."J 

Her  face  was  aglow  with  an  enthusiasm  that 
made  it  seem  young,  like  a  young  girl's  face. 

"I  begged  myself  by  the  landlord  to  paint  up 
my  kitchen,  but  he  would  n't  listen  to  me.  So  I 
seen  that  if  I  ever  hoped  to  fix  up  my  house,  I  'd 
have  to  spend  out  my  own  money.  And  I  began 
to  save  a  penny  to  a  penny  to  have  for  the 
paint.  And  when  I  seen  the  painters,  I  always 
stopped  them  to  ask  where  and  how  to  buy 
it  so  that  it  should  come  out  the  cheapest.  By 
day  and  by  night  it  burned  in  me  the  picture  — 
my  kitchen  shining  all  white  like  yours,  till  I 
could  n't  rest  till  I  done  it." 

With  all  her  breeding,  with  all  the  restraint 
of  her  Anglo-Saxon  forbears,  Mrs.  Preston  was 
strangely  shaken  by  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  consum- 
ing passion  for  beauty.  She  looked  deep  into  the 
eyes  of  the  Russian  Jewess  as  if  drinking  in  the 
secret  of  their  hidden  glow. 

"  I  am  eager  to  see  that  wonderful  kitchen  of 
yours,"  she  said,  as  Hanneh  Hayyeh  bade  her 
good-bye. 

78 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  walked  home,  her  thoughts 
in  a  whirl  with  the  glad  anticipation  of  Mrs. 
Preston's  promised  visit.  She  wondered  how 
she  might  share  the  joy  of  Mrs.  Preston's 
presence  with  the  butcher  and  all  the  neighbors. 
"I'll  bake  up  a  shtrudel  cake,"  she  thought  to 
herself.  "They  will  all  want  to  come  to  get  a 
taste  of  the  cake  and  then  they'll  give  a  look  on 
Mrs.  Preston." 

Thus  smiling  and  talking  to  herself  she  went 
about  her  work.  As  she  bent  over  the  wash-tub 
rubbing  the  clothes,  she  visualized  the  hot, 
steaming  shtrudel  just  out  of  the  oven  and  the 
exclamations  of  pleasure  as  Mrs.  Preston  and 
the  neighbors  tasted  it.  All  at  once  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door.  Wiping  her  soapy  hands 
on  the  corner  of  her  apron,  she  hastened  to 
open  it. 

"Oi!  Mr.  Landlord!  Come  only  inside,"  she 
urged.  "I  got  the  rent  for  you,  but  I  want  you 
to  give  a  look  around  how  I  shined  up  my  flat." 

The  Prince  Albert  that  bound  the  protruding 
stomach  of  Mr.  Benjamin  Rosenblatt  was  no 
tighter  than  the  skin  that  encased  the  smooth- 
79 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

shaven  face.  His  mouth  was  tight.  Even  the 
small,  popping  eyes  held  a  tight  gleam. 

"I  got  no  time.  The  minutes  is  money,"  he 
said,  extending  a  claw-like  hand  for  the  rent. 

"But  I  only  want  you  for  a  half  a  minute." 
And  Hanneh  Hayyeh  dragged  the  owner  of  her 
palace  across  the  threshold.  "Nu?  Ain't  I  a 
good  painter?  And  all  this  I  done  while  other 
people  were  sleeping  themselves,  after  I  'd  come 
home  from  my  day's  work." 

"Very  nice,"  condescended  Mr.  Benjamin 
Rosenblatt,  with  a  hasty  glance  around  the 
room.  "You  certainly  done  a  good  job.  But  I 
got  to  go.  Here's  your  receipt."  And  the  fin- 
gers that  seized  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  rent-money 
seemed  like  pincers  for  grasping  molars. 

Two  weeks  later  Jake  Safransky  and  his  wife 
Hanneh  Hayyeh  sat  eating  their  dinner,  when 
the  janitor  came  in  with  a  note. 

"From  the  landlord,"  he  said,  handing  it  to 
Hanneh  Hayyeh,  and  walked  out. 

"The  landlord?"  she  cried,  excitedly.  "What 
for  can  it  be?"  With  trembling  fingers  she  tore 
open  the  note.  The  slip  dropped  from  her  hand. 
80 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

Her  face  grew  livid,  her  eyes  bulged  with  ter- 
ror. "Oi  weh!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  fell  back 
against  the  wall. 

"Gewalt!"  cried  her  husband,  seizing  her 
limp  hand,  "you  look  like  struck  dead." 

"Oi-i-i!  The  murderer!  He  raised  me  the  rent 
five  dollars  a  month." 

"Good  for  you!  I  told  you  to  listen  to  me. 
Maybe  he  thinks  we  got  money  laying  in  the 
bank  when  you  got  so  many  dollars  to  give  out 
on  paint." 

She  turned  savagely  on  her  husband.  "What 
are  you  tearing  yet  my  flesh?  Such  a  money- 
grabber!  How  could  I  imagine  for  myself  that 
so  he  would  thank  me  for  laying  in  my  money 
to  painting  up  his  house?" 

She  seized  her  shawl,  threw  it  over  her  head, 
and  rushed  to  the  landlord's  office. 

"Oi  weh !  Mr.  Landlord !  Where  is  your  heart  ? 
How  could  you  raise  me  my  rent  when  you 
know  my  son  is  yet  in  France?  And  even  with 
the  extra  washing  I  take  in  I  don't  get  enough 
when  the  eating  is  so  dear?" 

"The  flat  is  worth  five  dollars  more,"  an- 
81 


-  HUNGRY  HEARTS 

swered  Mr.  Rosenblatt,  impatiently.  "I  can 
get  another  tenant  any  minute." 

"Have  pity  on  me!  I  beg  you!  From  where  I 
can  squeeze  out  the  five  dollars  more  for  you?" 

"That  don't  concern  me.  If  you  can't  pay, 
somebody  else  will.  I  got  to  look  out  for  my- 
self. In  America  everybody  looks  out  for 
himself." 

"  Is  it  nothing  by  you  how  I  painted  up  your 
house  with  my  own  blood-money?" 

"You  did  n't  do  it  for  me.  You  done  it  for 
yourself,"  he  sneered.  "It's  nothing  to  me  how 
the  house  looks,  so  long  as  I  get  my  rent  in  time., 
You  wanted  to  have  a  swell  house,  so  you 
painted  it.  That's  all." 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  dismissed  her. 

"I  beg  by  your  conscience!  Think  on  God!" 
Hanneh  Hayyeh  wrung  her  hands.  "Ain't 
your  house  worth  more  to  you  to  have  a  tenant 
clean  it  out  and  paint  it  out  so  beautiful  like  I 
done?" 

"Certainly,"  snarled  the  landlord.  "Because 
the  flat  is  painted  new,  I  can  get  more  money 
for  it.  I  got  no  more  time  for  you." 
82 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

He  turned  to  his  stenographer  and  resumed 
the  dictation  of  his  letters. 

Dazedly  Hanneh  Hayyeh  left  the  office.  A 
choking  dryness  contracted  her  throat  as  she 
staggered  blindly,  gesticulating  and  talking  to 
herself. 

"Oi  weh!  The  sweat,  the  money  I  laid  into 
my  flat  and  it  should  all  go  to  the  devil.  And  I 
should  be  turned  out  and  leave  all  my  beauti- 
fulness.  And  from  where  will  I  get  the  money  for 
moving?  When  I  begin  to  break  myself  up  to 
move,  I  got  to  pay  out  money  for  the  moving 
man,  money  for  putting  up  new  lines,  money  for 
new  shelves  and  new  hooks  besides  money  for 
the  rent.  I  got  to  remain  where  I  am.  But  from 
where  can  I  get  together  the  five  dollars  for  the 
robber?  Should  I  go  toMoisheh  Itzek,  the  pawn- 
broker, or  should  I  maybe  ask  Mrs.  Preston? 
No  —  She  should  n't  think  I  got  her  for  a  friend 
only  to  help  me.  Oi  weh !  Where  should  I  turn 
with  my  bitter  heart?" 

Mechanically  she  halted  at  the  butcher-shop. 
Throwing  herself  on  the  vacant  bench,  she  bur- 
ied her  face  in  her  shawl  and  burst  out  in  a  loud, 
83 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 
heart-piercing  wail:  "Woe  is  me!  Bitter  is  me!" 

"Hanneh  Hayyeh !  What  to  you  happened?" 
cried  Mr.  Sopkin  in  alarm. 

His  sympathy  unlocked  the  bottom  depths  of 
her  misery. 

"Oi-i-i!  Black  is  my  luck!  Dark  is  for  my 
eyes!" 

The  butcher  and  the  neighbors  pressed  close 
in  upon  her. 

"Gewalt!  What  is  it?  Bad  news  from  Aby  in 
France?" 

"Oi-i-i!  The  murderer!  The  thief!  His  gall 
should  burst  as  mine  is  bursting!  His  heart 
should  break  as  mine  is  breaking!  It  remains  for 
me  nothing  but  to  be  thrown  out  in  the  gutter. 
The  landlord  raised  me  five  dollars  a  month  rent. 
And  he  ripped  yet  my  wounds  by  telling  me  he 
raised  me  the  rent  because  my  painted-up  flat 
is  so  much  more  worth." 

"The  dogs!  The  blood-sucking  landlords! 
They  are  the  new  czars  from  America!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"What  should  I  do?  Aby  is  coming  from 
J?  ranee  any  day,  and  he 's  got  to  have  a  home  to 
84 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

come  to.  I  will  have  to  take  out  from  my  eating 
the  meat  and  the  milk  to  save  together  the  extra 
five  dollars.  People!  Give  me  an  advice!  What 
else  can  I  do?  If  a  wild  wolf  falls  on  you  in  the 
black  night,  will  crying  help  you?" 

With  a  gesture  of  abject  despair,  she  fell  prone 
upon  the  bench.  "Gottuniu!  If  there  is  any  jus- 
tice and  mercy  on  this  earth,  then  may  the  land- 
lord be  tortured  like  he  is  torturing  me!  May 
the  fires  burn  him  and  the  waters  drown  him! 
May  his  flesh  be  torn  from  him  in  pieces  and  his 
bones  be  ground  in  the  teeth  of  wild  dogs ! " 

Two  months  later,  a  wasted,  haggard  Han- 
neh  Hayyeh  stood  in  the  kitchen,  folding  Mrs. 
Preston's  wash  in  her  basket,  when  the  janitor 
—  the  servant  of  her  oppressor  —  handed  her 
another  note. 

"From  the  landlord,"  he  said  in  his  toneless 
voice. 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  paled.  She  could  tell  from 
his  smirking  sneer  that  it  was  a  second  notice 
of  increased  rental. 

It  grew  black  before  her  eyes.  She  was  too 
stunned  to  think.  Her  first  instinct  was  to  run 
85 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

to  her  husband;  but  she  needed  sympathy  — 
not  nagging.  And  then  in  her  darkness  she  saw  a 
light — 'the  face  of  her  friend,  Mrs.  Preston. 
She  hurried  to  her. 

"Oi  — •  friend !  The  landlord  raised  me  my  rent 
again,"  she  gasped,  dashing  into  the  room  like  a 
thing  hounded  by  wild  beasts. 

Mrs.  Preston  was  shocked  by  Hanneh  Hay- 
yeh's  distraught  appearance.  For  the  first  time 
she  noticed  the  ravages  of  worry  and  hunger. 

"Hanneh  Hayyeh !  Try  to  calm  yourself.  It  is 
really  quite  inexcusable  the  way  the  landlords 
are  taking  advantage  of  the  situation.  There 
must  be  a  way  out.  We'll  fix  it  up  somehow."  j 

"How  fix  it  up?"  Hanneh  Hayyeh  flared. 

"We'll  see  that  you  get  the  rent  you  need." 
There  was  reassurance  and  confidence  in  Mrs. 
Preston's  tone. 

Hanneh  Hayyeh's  eyes  flamed.  Too  choked 
for  utterance,  her  breath  ceased  for  a  moment. 

"I  want  no  charity!  You  think  maybe  I  came 
to  beg?  No  —  I  want  justice!" 

She  shrank  in  upon  herself,  as  though  to  ward 
off  the  raised  whipof  her  persecutor.  "You  know 
86 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

how  I  feel?"  Her  voice  came  from  the  terrified 
depths  of  her.  "It's  as  if  the  landlord  pushed 
me  in  a  corner  and  said  to  me:  *I  want  money, 
or  I'll  squeeze  from  you  your  life!'  I  have  no 
money,  so  he  takes  my  life. 

"Last  time,  when  he  raised  me  my  rent,  I 
done  without  meat  and  without  milk.  What 
more  can  I  do  without?" 

The  piercing  cry  stirred  Mrs.  Preston  as  no 
mere  words  had  done. 

"Sometimes  I  get  so  weak  for  a  piece  of  meat, 
I  could  tear  the  world  to  pieces.  Hunger  and 
bitterness  are  making  a  wild  animal  out  of  me. 
I  ain't  no  more  the  same  Hanneh  Hayyeh  I  used 
to  be." 

The  shudder  that  shook  Hanneh  Hayyeh 
communicated  itself  to  Mrs.  Preston.  "I  know 
the  prices  are  hard  to  bear,"  she  stammered, 
appalled. 

"There  used  to  be  a  time  when  poor  people 
could  eat  cheap  things,"  the  toneless  voice  went 
on.  "But  now  there  ain't  no  more  cheap  things. 
Potatoes  — •  rice  — •  fish  —  even  dry  bread  is 
dear.  Look  on  my  shoes !  And  I  who  used  to  be 
87 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

so  neat  with  myself.  I  can't  no  more  have  my 
torn  shoes  fixed  up.  A  pair  of  shoes  or  a  little 
patch  is  only  for  millionaires." 

"Something  must  be  done,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Preston,  distraught  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 
"But  in  the  meantime,  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  you 
must  accept  this  to  tide  you  over."  She  spoke 
with  finality  as  she  handed  her  a  bill. 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  thrust  back  the  money. 
"Ain't  I  hurt  enough  without  you  having  to 
hurt  me  yet  with  charity?  You  want  to  give  me 
hush  money  to  swallow  down  an  unrightness 
that  burns  my  flesh?  I  want  justice. " 

The  woman's  words  were  like  bullets  that 
shot  through  the  static  security  of  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton's life.  She  realized  with  a  guilty  pang  that 
while  strawberries  and  cream  were  being  served 
at  her  table  in  January,  Hanneh  Hayyeh  had 
doubtless  gone  without  a  square  meal  in  months. 

"We  can't  change  the  order  of  things  over- 
night," faltered  Mrs.  Preston,  baffled  and  be- 
wildered by  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  defiance  of  her 
proffered  aid. 

"Change  things  ?  There 's  got  to  be  a  change ! " 
88 


THE  LOST  BEAQTIFULNESS 

cried  Hanneh  Hayyeh  with  renewed  intensity. 
"The  world  as  it  is  is  not  to  live  in  any  longer. 
If  only  my  Aby  would  get  back  quick.  But  un- 
til he  comes,  I  '11  fight  till  all  America  will  have 
to  stop  and  listen  to  me.  You  was  always  tell- 
ing me  that  the  lowest  nobody  got  something  to 
give  to  America.  And  that's  what  I  got  to  give 
to  America  —  the  last  breath  in  my  body  for 
justice.  I  '11  wake  up  America  from  its  sleep.  I  '11 
go  myself  to  the  President  with  my  Aby's  sol- 
dier picture  and  ask  him  was  all  this  war  to  let 
loose  a  bunch  of  blood-suckers  to  suck  the  mar- 
row out  from  the  people?" 

" Hanneh  Hayyeh,"  said  Mrs.  Preston,  with 
feeling,  "these  laws  are  far  from  just,  but  they 
are  all  we  have  so  far.  Give  us  time.  We  are  young. 
We  are  still  learning.  We're  doing  our  best." 

Numb  with  suffering  the  woman  of  the  ghetto 
looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Preston. 
"And  you  too  —  you  too  hold  by  the  landlord's 
side?  —  Oi  —  I  see!  Perhaps  you  too  got  prop- 
erty out  by  agents." 

A  sigh  that  had  in  it  the  resignation  of  utter 
hopelessness  escaped  from  her.  "Nothing  can 
89 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

hurt  me  no  more  — •  And  you  always  stood  out 
to  me  in  my  dreams  as  the  angel  from  love  and 
beautifulness.  You  always  made-believe  to  me 
that  you're  only  for  democracy." 

Tears  came  to  Mrs.  Preston's  eyes.  But  she 
made  no  move  to  defend  herself  or  reply  and 
Hanneh  Hayyeh  walked  out  in  silence. 

A  few  days  later  the  whole  block  was  astir 
with  the  news  that  Hanneh  Hayyeh  had  gone 
to  court  to  answer  her  dispossess  summons. 

From  the  windows,  the  stoop,  from  the  hall- 
way, and  the  doorway  of  the  butcher-shop  the 
neighbors  were  talking  and  gesticulating  while 
waiting  for  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  return. 

Hopeless  and  dead,  Hanneh  Hayyeh  dragged 
herself  to  the  butcher-shop.  All  made  way  for 
her  to  sit  on  the  bench.  She  collapsed  in  a  heap, 
not  uttering  a  single  sound,  nor  making  a  single 
move. 

The  butcher  produced  a  bottle  of  brandy  and, 
hastily  filling  a  small  glass,  brought  it  to  Han- 
neh Hayyeh. 

"Quick,  take  it  to  your  lips,"  he  commanded. 
Weak  from  lack  of  food  and  exhausted  by 
90 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

the  ordeal  of  the  court-room,  Hanneh  Hayyeh 
obeyed  like  a  child. 

Soon  one  neighbor  came  in  with  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee;  another  brought  bread  and  herring  with 
onion  over  it. 

Tense,  breathless,  with  suppressed  curiosity 
quivering  on  their  lips,  they  waited  till  Hanneh 
Hayyeh  swallowed  the  coffee  and  ate  enough  to 
regain  a  little  strength. 

"Nu?  What  became  in  the  court?" 

"What  said  the  judge?" 

"Did  they  let  you  talk  yourself  out  like  you 
said  you  would?" 

"Was  the  murderer  there  to  say  something?" 

Hanneh  Hayyeh  wagged  her  head  and  began 
talking  to  herself  in  a  low,  toneless  voice  as  if 
continuing  her  inward  thought.  "The  judge 
said  the  same  as  Mrs.  Preston  said :  the  landlord 
has  the  right  to  raise  our  rent  or  put  us  out." 

"Oi  weh!  If  Hanneh  Hayyeh  with  her  fire  in 
her  mouth  could  n't  get  her  rights,  then  where 
are  we?" 

"To  whom  should  we  go  ?  Who  more  will  talk 
for  us  now?" 

91 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Our  life  lays  in  their  hands." 

"They  can  choke  us  so  much  as  they  like!" 

"Nobody  cares.  Nobody  hears  our  cry!" 

Out  of  this  babel  of  voices  there  flashed 
across  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  deadened  senses  the 
chimera  that  to  her  was  the  one  reality  of  her  as- 
piring soul  —  "Oi-i-i-i!  My  beautiful  kitchen!" 
she  sighed  as  in  a  dream. 

The  butcher's  face  grew  red  with  wrath.  His 
eyes  gleamed  like  sharp,  darting  steel.  "I 
would  n't  give  that  robber  the  satisfaction  to 
leave  your  grand  painted  house,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  Hanneh  Hayyeh.  "  I  'd  smash  down  every- 
thing for  spite.  You  got  nothing  to  lose.  Such  a 
murderer!  I  would  learn  him  a  lesson!  'An  eye 
for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.' " 

Hanneh  Hayyeh,  hair  disheveled,  clothes 
awry,  the  nails  of  her  fingers  dug  in  her  scalp, 
stared  with  the  glazed,  impotent  stare  of  a  mad- 
woman. With  unseeing  eyes  she  rose  and  blindly 
made  her  way  to  her  house. 

As  she  entered  her  kitchen  she  encountered 
her  husband  hurrying  in. 

"Oi  weh!  Oiweh!"  he  whined.  "I  was  always 
92 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

telling  you  your  bad  end.  Everybody  is  already 
pointing  their  fingers  on  me!  and  all  because 
you,  a  meshugeneh  yideneh,  a  starved  beggerin, 
talked  it  into  your  head  that  you  got  to  have 
for  yourself  a  white-painted  kitchen  alike  to  Mrs. 
Preston.  Now  you'll  remember  to  listen  to  your 
husband.  Now,  when  you'll  be  laying  in  the 
street  to  shame  and  to  laughter  for  the  whole 
world." 

"Out!  Out  from  my  sight!  Out  from  my 
house!"  shrieked  Hanneh  Hayyeh.  In  her  rage 
she  seized  a  flat-iron  and  Jake  heard  her  hurl 
it  at  the  slammed  door  as  he  fled  downstairs. 

It  was  the  last  night  before  the  eviction. 
Hanneh  Hayyeh  gazed  about  her  kitchen  with 
tear-glazed  eyes.  "Some  one  who  got  nothing 
but  only  money  will  come  in  here  and  get  the 
pleasure  from  all  this  beautifulness  that  cost 
me  the  blood  from  my  heart.  Is  this  already 
America?  What  for  was  my  Aby  fighting?  Was 
it  then  only  a  dream  —  all  these  millions  people 
from  all  lands  and  from  all  times,  wishing  and 
hoping  and  praying  that  America  is?  Did  I 
wake  myself  from  my  dreaming  to  see  myself 
93 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

back  in  the  black  times  of  Russia  under  the 
czar?" 

Her  eager,  beauty-loving  face  became  dis- 
torted with  hate.  "No  —  the  landlord  ain't 
going  to  get  the  best  from  me!  I'll  learn  him  a 
lesson.  'An  eye  for  an  eye' — " 

With  savage  fury,  she  seized  the  chopping-axe 
and  began  to  scratch  down  the  paint,  breaking 
the  plaster  on  the  walls.  She  tore  up  the  floor- 
boards. She  unscrewed  the  gas-jets,  turned  on 
the  gas  full  force  so  as  to  blacken  the  white- 
painted  ceiling.  The  night  through  she  raged 
with  the  frenzy  of  destruction. 

Utterly  spent  she  flung  herself  on  the  lounge, 
but  she  could  not  close  her  eyes.  Her  nerves 
quivered.  Her  body  ached,  and  she  felt  her  soul 
ache  there  —  inside  her  —  like  a  thing  killed 
that  could  not  die. 

The  first  grayness  of  dawn  filtered  through 
the  air-shaft  window  of  the  kitchen.  The  room 
was  faintly  lighted,  and  as  the  rays  of  dawn  got 
stronger  and  reached  farther,  one  by  one  the 
things  she  had  mutilated  in  the  night  started,  as 
it  were,  into  consciousness.  She  looked  at  her 
94 


THE  LOST  BEAUTIFULNESS 

dish-closet,  once  precious,  that  she  had  scratched 
and  defaced;  the  uprooted  geranium-box  on  the 
window-sill;  the  marred  walls.  It  was  unbearable 
all  this  waste  and  desolation  that  stared  at  her. 
"Can  it  be  I  who  done  all  this?"  she  asked  her- 
self. "What  devil  got  boiling  in  me?" 

What  had  she  gained  by  her  rage  for  venge- 
ance? She  had  thought  to  spite  the  landlord, 
but  it  was  her  own  soul  she  had  killed.  These 
walls  that  stared  at  her  in  their  ruin  were  not 
just  walls.  They  were  animate —  they  throbbed 
with  the  pulse  of  her  own  flesh.  For  every  inch 
of  the  broken  plaster  there  was  a  scar  on  her 
heart.  She  had  destroyed  that  which  had  taken 
her  so  many  years  of  prayer  and  longing  to 
build  up.  But  this  demolished  beauty  like  her 
own  soul,  though  killed,  still  quivered  and 
ached  with  the  unstilled  pain  of  life.  "Oi  weh!" 
she  moaned,  swaying  to  and  fro.  "So  much  lost 
beautifulness — " 

Private  Abraham  Safransky,  with  the  look  in 
his  eyes  and  the  swing  of  his  shoulders  of  all  the 
boys  who  come  back  from  overseas,  edged  his 
95 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

way  through  the  wet  Delancey  Street  crowds 
with  the  skill  of  one  born  to  these  streets  and  the 
assurance  of  the  United  States  Army.  Fresh 
from  the  ship,  with  a  twenty-four-hour  leave 
stowed  safely  in  his  pocket,  he  hastened  to  see 
his  people  after  nearly  two  years'  separation. 

On  Private  Safransky's  left  shoulder  was  the 
insignia  of  the  Statue  of  Liberty.  The  three  gold 
service  stripes  on  his  left  arm  and  the  two  wound 
stripes  of  his  right  were  supplemented  by  the 
Distinguished  Service  Medal  on  his  left  breast 
bestowed  by  the  United  States  Government. 

As  he  pictured  his  mother's  joy  when  he  would 
surprise  her  in  her  spotless  kitchen,  the  soldier 
broke  into  the  double-quick. 

All  at  once  he  stopped;  on  the  sidewalk  be- 
fore their  house  was  a  heap  of  household  things 
that  seemed  familiar  and  there  on  the  curbstone 
a  woman  huddled,  cowering,  broken. —- Good 
God— -his  mother! His  own  mother— and  all 
their  worldly  belongings  dumped  there  in  the 


rain. 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

How  came  it  that  I  went  to  the  free  vacation 
house  was  like  this : 

One  day  the  visiting  teacher  from  the  school 
comes  to  find  out  for  why  don't  I  get  the  chil- 
dren ready  for  school  in  time;  for  why  are  they 
so  often  late. 

I  let  out  on  her  my  whole  bitter  heart.  I  told 
her  my  head  was  on  wheels  from  worrying. 
When  I  get  up  in  the  morning,  I  don't  know  on 
what  to  turn  first:  should  I  nurse  the  baby,  or 
make  Sam's  breakfast,  or  attend  on  the  older 
children.  I  only  got  two  hands. 

"My  dear  woman,"  she  says,  "you  are  about 
to  have  a  nervous  breakdown.  You  need  to 
get  away  to  the  country  for  a  rest  and  vaca- 
tion." 

"Gott  im  Himmel!"  says  I.  "Don't  I  know 
I  need  a  rest?  But  how?  On  what  money  can  I 
go  to  the  country?" 

"I  know  of  a  nice  country  place  for  mothers 
97 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

and  children  that  will  not  cost  you  anything.  It 
is  free." 

"Free!  I  never  heard  from  it." 

"  Some  kind  people  have  made  arrangements 
so  no  one  need  pay,"  she  explains. 

Later,  in  a  few  days,  I  just  finished  up  with 
Masha  and  Mendel  and  Frieda  and  Sony  a  to 
send  them  to  school,  and  I  was  getting  Aby 
ready  for  kindergarten,  when  I  hear  a  knock  on 
the  door,  and  a  lady  comes  in.  She  had  a  white 
starched  dress  like  a  nurse  and  carried  a  black 
satchel  in  her  hand. 

"I  am  from  the  Social  Betterment  Society," 
she  tells  me.  "You  want  to  go  to  the  country?" 

Before  I  could  say  something,  she  goes  over 
to  the  baby  and  pulls  out  the  rubber  nipple 
from  her  mouth,  and  to  me,  she  says,  "You 
must  not  get  the  child  used  to  sucking  this;  it  is 
very  unsanitary." 

"Gott  im  Himmel!"  I  beg  the  lady.  "Please 
don't  begin  with  that  child,  or  she'll  holler  my 
head  off.  She  must  have  the  nipple.  I'm  too 
nervous  to  hear  her  scream  like  that." 

When  I  put  the  nipple  back  again  in  the  baby's 
98 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

mouth,  the  lady  takes  herself  a  seat,  and  then 
takes  out  a  big  black  book  from  her  satchel. 
Then  she  begins  to  question  me.  What  is  my 
first  name?  How  old  I  am?  From  where  come  I  ? 
How  long  I'm  already  in  this  country?  Do  I 
keep  any  boarders  ?  What  is  my  husband's  first 
name?  How  old  he  is?  How  long  he  is  in  this 
country?  By  what  trade  he  works?  How  much 
wages  he  gets  for  a  week?  How  much  money  do 
I  spend  out  for  rent?  How  old  are  the  children, 
and  everything  about  them. 

"My  goodness!"  I  cry  out.  "For  why  is  it 
necessary  all  this  to  know  ?  For  why  must  I  tell 
you  all  my  business?  What  difference  does  it 
make  already  if  I  keep  boarders,  or  I  don't  keep 
boarders  ?  If  Masha  had  the  whooping-cough  or 
Sonya  had  the  measles?  Or  whether  I  spend  out 
for  my  rent  ten  dollars  or  twenty?  Or  whether 
I  come  from  Schnipishock  or  Kovner  Guber- 
nie? " 

"We  must  make  a  record  of  all  the  applicants, 
and  investigate  each  case,"  she  tells  me.  "There 
are  so  many  who  apply  to  the  charities,  we  can 
help  only  those  who  are  most  worthy." 
99 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Charities!"  I  scream  out.  "Ain't  the  chari- 
ties those  who  help  the  beggars  out?  I  ain't 
no  beggar.  I  'm  not  asking  for  no  charity.  My 
husband,  he  works." 

"Miss  Holcomb,  the  visiting  teacher,  said 
that  you  wanted  to  go  to  the  country,  and  I  had 
to  make  out  this  report  before  investigating 
your  case." 

"Oh!  Oh!"  I  choke  and  bit  my  lips.  "Is  the 
free  country  from  which  Miss  Holcomb  told  me, 
is  it  from  the  charities  ?  She  was  telling  me  some 
kind  people  made  arrangements  for  any  mother 
what  needs  to  go  there." 

"  If  your  application  is  approved,  you  will  be 
notified,"  she  says  to  me,  and  out  she  goes. 

When  she  is  gone  I  think  to  myself,  I  'd  better 
knock  out  from  my  head  this  idea  about  the 
country.  For  so  long  I  lived,  I  did  n't  know 
nothing  about  the  charities.  For  why  should  I 
come  down  among  the  beggars  now? 

Then  I  looked  around  me  in  the  kitchen. 

On  one  side  was  the  big  wash-tub  with  clothes, 

waiting  for  me  to  wash.  On  the  table  was  a 

pile  of  breakfast  dishes  yet.  In  the  sink  was  the 

100 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

potatoes,  waiting  to  be  peeled.  The  baby  was 
beginning  to  cry  for  the  bottle.  Aby  was  holler- 
ing and  pulling  me  to  take  him  to  kindergarten.  I 
felt  if  I  did  n't  get  away  from  here  for  a  little 
while,  I  would  land  in  a  crazy  house,  or  from  the 
window  jump  down.  Which  was  worser,  to  land 
in  a  crazy  house,  jump  from  the  window  down, 
or  go  to  the  country  from  the  charities? 

In  about  two  weeks  later  around  comes  the 
same  lady  with  the  satchel  again  in  my  house. 

"You  can  go  to  the  country  to-morrow,"  she 
tells  me.  "And  you  must  come  to  the  charity 
building  to-morrow  at  nine  o'clock  sharp.  Here 
is  a  card  with  the  address.  Don't  lose  it,  because 
you  must  hand  it  to  the  lady  in  the  office." 

I  look  on  the  card,  and  there  I  see  my  name 
wrote;  and  by  it,  in  big  printed  letters,  that 
word  "CHARITY." 

"Must  I  go  to  the  charity  office?"  I  ask,  feeling 
my  heart  to  sink.  "  For  why  must  I  come  there  ?  " 

"It  is  the  rule  that  everybody  comes  to  the 
office  first,  and  from  there  they  are  taken  to  the 
country." 

I  shivered  to  think  how  I  would  feel,  suppose 
101 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

somebody  from  my  friends  should  see  me  walk- 
ing into  the  charity  office  with  my  children. 
They  would  n't  know  that  it  is  only  for  the 
country  I  go  there.  They  might  think  I  go  to 
beg.  Have  I  come  down  so  low  as  to  be  seen  by 
the  charities?  But  what's  the  use?  Should  I 
knock  my  head  on  the  walls  ?  I  had  to  go. 

When  I  come  to  the  office,  I  already  found  a 
crowd  of  women  and  children  sitting  on  long 
benches  and  waiting.  I  took  myself  a  seat  with 
them,  and  we  were  sitting  and  sitting  and  look- 
ing on  one  another,  sideways  and  crosswise,  and 
with  lowered  eyes,  like  guilty  criminals.  Each 
one  felt  like  hiding  herself  from  all  the  rest. 
Each  one  felt  black  with  shame  in  the  face. 

We  may  have  been  sitting  and  waiting  for  an 
hour  or  more.  But  every  second  was  seeming 
years  to  me.  The  children  began  to  get  restless. 
Mendel  wanted  water.  The  baby  on  my  arms 
was  falling  asleep.  Aby  was  crying  for  something 
to  eat. 

"For  why  are  we  sittin'  here  like  fat  cats?" 
says  the  woman  next  to  me.  "Ain't  we  going  to 
the  country  to-day  yet?" 
102 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

At  last  a  lady  comes  to  the  desk  and  begins 
calling  us  our  names,  one  by  one.  I  nearly 
dropped  to  the  floor  when  over  she  begins  to 
ask:  Do  you  keep  boarders?  How  much  do 
you  spend  out  for  rent?  How  much  wages  does 
your  man  get  for  a  week? 

Did  n't  the  nurse  tell  them  all  about  us  al- 
ready? It  was  bitter  enough  to  have  to  tell  the 
nurse  everything,  but  in  my  own  house  nobody 
was  hearing  my  troubles,  only  the  nurse.  But  in 
the  office  there  was  so  many  strangers  all  around 
me.  For  why  should  everybody  have  to  know 
my  business?  At  every  question  I  wanted  to 
holler  out:  "Stop!  Stop!  I  don't  want  no  vaca- 
tions! I'll  better  run  home  with  my  children." 
At  every  question  I  felt  like  she  was  stabbing  a 
knife  into  my  heart.  And  she  kept  on  stabbing 
me  more  and  more,  but  I  could  not  help  it,  and 
they  were  all  looking  at  me.  I  could  n't  move 
from  her.  I  had  to  answer  everything. 

When  she  got  through  with  me,  my  face  was 
red  like  fire.  I  was  burning  with  hurts  and 
wounds.  I  felt  like  everything  was  bleeding  in  me. 

When  all  the  names  was  already  called,  a  man 
103 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

doctor  with  a  nurse  comes  in,  and  tells  us  to 
form  a  line,  to  be  examined.  I  wish  I  could  ease 
out  my  heart  a  little,  and  tell  in  words  how  that 
doctor  looked  on  us,  just  because  we  were  poor 
and  had  no  money  to  pay.  He  only  used  the 
ends  from  his  finger-tips  to  examine  us  with. 
From  the  way  he  was  afraid  to  touch  us  or  come 
near  us,  he  made  us  feel  like  we  had  some  catch- 
ing sickness  that  he  was  trying  not  to  get  on 
him. 

The  doctor  got  finished  with  us  in  about  five 
minutes,  so  quick  he  worked.  Then  we  was  told 
to  walk  after  the  nurse,  who  was  leading  the 
way  for  us  through  the  street  to  the  car.  Every- 
body what  passed  us  in  the  street  turned  around 
to  look  on  us.  I  kept  down  my  eyes  and  held 
down  my  head  and  I  felt  like  sinking  into  the 
sidewalk.  All  the  time  I  was  trembling  for  fear 
somebody  what  knows  me  might  yet  pass  and 
see  me.  For  why  did  they  make  us  walk  through 
the  street,  after  the  nurse,  like  stupid  cows? 
Were  n't  all  of  us  smart  enough  to  find  our  way 
without  the  nurse?  Why  should  the  whole  world 
have  to  see  that  we  are  from  the  charities  ? 
104 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

When  we  got  into  the  train,  I  opened  my 
eyes,  and  lifted  up  my  head,  and  straightened 
out  my  chest,  and  again  began  to  breathe.  It 
was  a  beautiful,  sunshiny  day.  I  knocked  open 
the  window  from  the  train,  and  the  fresh-smell- 
ing country  air  rushed  upon  my  face  and  made 
me  feel  so  fine!  I  looked  out  from  the  window 
and  instead  of  seeing  the  iron  fire-escapes  with 
garbage-cans  and  bedclothes,  that  I  always  seen 
when  from  my  flat  I  looked  —  instead  of  seeing 
only  walls  and  wash-lines  between  walls,  I  saw 
the  blue  sky,  and  green  grass  and  trees  and 
flowers. 

Ah,  how  grand  I  felt,  just  on  the  sky  to  look! 
Ah,  how  grand  I  felt  just  to  see  the  green  grass 
—  and  the  free  space  —  and  no  houses ! 

"Get  away  from  me,  my  troubles!"  I  said. 
"Leave  me  rest  a  minute.  Leave  me  breathe 
and  straighten  out  my  bones.  Forget  the  un- 
paid butcher's  bill.  Forget  the  rent.  Forget  the 
wash-tub  and  the  cook-stove  and  the  pots  and 
pans.  Forget  the  charities ! " 

"Tickets,  please,"  calls  the  train  conductor. 

I  felt  knocked  out  from  heaven  all  at  once.  I 
105 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

had  to  point  to  the  nurse  what  held  our  tickets, 
and  I  was  feeling  the  conductor  looking  on  me 
as  if  to  say,  "Oh,  you  are  only  from  the  chari- 
ties." 

By  the  time  we  came  to  the  vacation  house 
I  already  forgot  all  about  my  knock-down.  I 
was  again  filled  with  the  beauty  of  the  country. 
I  never  in  all  my  life  yet  seen  such  a  swell  house 
like  that  vacation  house.  Like  the  grandest 
palace  it  looked.  All  round  the  front,  flowers 
from  all  colors  was  smelling  out  the  sweetest 
perfume.  Here  and  there  was  shady  trees  with 
comfortable  chairs  under  them  to  sit  down  on. 

When  I  only  came  inside,  my  mouth  opened 
wide  and  my  breathing  stopped  still  from  won- 
der. I  never  yet  seen  such  an  order  and  such  a 
cleanliness.  From  all  the  corners  from  the  room, 
the  cleanliness  was  shining  like  a  looking-glass. 
The  floor  was  so  white  scrubbed  you  could  eat 
on  it.  You  could  n't  find  a  speck  of  dust  on 
nothing,  if  you  was  looking  for  it  with  eye- 
glasses on. 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  happy  and  glad  that 
I  come,  when,  Gott  im  Himmel!  again  a  lady 
106 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

begins  to  ask  us  out  the  same  questions  what 
the  nurse  already  asked  me  in  my  home  and 
what  was  asked  over  again  in  the  charity  office. 
How  much  wages  my  husband  makes  out  for  a 
week  ?  How  much  money  I  spend  out  for  rent  ? 
Do  I  keep  boarders? 

We  were  hungry  enough  to  faint.  So  worn  out 
was  I  from  excitement,  and  from  the  long  ride, 
that  my  knees  were  bending  under  me  ready  to 
break  from  tiredness.  The  children  were  pulling 
me  to  pieces,  nagging  me  for  a  drink,  for  some- 
thing to  eat  and  such  like.  But  still  we  had  to 
stand  out  the  whole  list  of  questionings.  When 
she  already  got  through  asking  us  out  every- 
thing, she  gave  to  each  of  us  a  tag  with  our 
name  written  on  it.  She  told  us  to  tie  the  tag  on 
our  hand.  Then  like  tagged  horses  at  a  horse 
sale  in  the  street,  they  marched  us  into  the 
dining-room. 

There  was  rows  of  long  tables,  covered  with 
pure-white  oil-cloth.  A  vase  with  bought  flow- 
ers was  standing  on  the  middle  from  each  table. 
Each  person  got  a  clean  napkin  for  himself. 
Laid  out  by  the  side  from  each  person's  plate 
107 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

was  a  silver  knife  and  fork  and  spoon  and  tea- 
spoon. When  we  only  sat  ourselves  down,  girls 
with  white  starched  aprons  was  passing  around 
the  eatings. 

I  soon  forgot  again  all  my  troubles.  For  the 
first  time  in  ten  years  I  sat  down  to  a  meal  what 
I  did  not  have  to  cook  or  worry  about.  For  the 
first  time  in  ten  years  I  sat  down  to  the  table 
like  a  somebody.  Ah,  how  grand  it  feels,  to  have 
handed  you  over  the  eatings  and  everything 
you  need.  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  like  it  and 
let  myself  feel  good,  in  comes  a  fat  lady  all  in 
white,  with  a  teacher's  look  on  her  face.  I  could 
tell  already,  right  away  by  the  way  she  looked 
on  us,  that  she  was  the  boss  from  this  place. 

"I  want  to  read  you  the  rules  from  this  house, 
before  you  leave  this  room,"  says  she  to  us. 

Then  she  began  like  this :  We  dassen't  stand 
on  the  front  grass  where  the  flowers  are.  We 
dassen't  stay  on  the  front  porch.  We  dassen't 
sit  on  the  chairs  under  the  shady  trees.  We  must 
stay  always  in  the  back  and  sit  on  those  long 
wooden  benches  there.  We  dassen't  come  in  the 
front  sitting-room  or  walk  on  the  front  steps 
108 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

what  have  carpet  on  it  —  we  must  walk  on  tne 
back  iron  steps.  Everything  on  the  front  from 
the  house  must  be  kept  perfect  for  the  show  for 
visitors.  We  dassen't  lay  down  on  the  beds  in 
the  daytime,  the  beds  must  always  be  made  up 
perfect  for  the  show  for  visitors. 

"Gott  im  Himmel!"  thinks  I  to  myself; 
"ain't  there  going  to  be  no  end  to  the  things  we 
dassen't  do  in  this  place?" 

But  still  she  went  on.  The  children  over  two 
years  dassen't  stay  around  by  the  mothers. 
They  must  stay  by  the  nurse  in  the  play-room. 
By  the  meal-times,  they  can  see  their  mothers. 
The  children  dassen't  run  around  the  house  or 
tear  up  flowers  or  do  anything.  They  dassen't 
holler  or  play  rough  in  the  play-room.  They 
must  always  behave  and  obey  the  nurse. 

We  must  always  listen  to  the  bells.  Bell  one 
was  for  getting  up.  Bell  two,  for  getting  babies' 
bottles.  Bell  three,  for  coming  to  breakfast. 
Bell  four,  for  bathing  the  babies.  If  we  come 
later,  after  the  ring  from  the  bell,  then  we'll 
not  get  what  we  need.  If  the  bottle  bell  rings 
and  we  don't  come  right  away  for  the  bottle, 
109 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

then  the  baby  don't  get  no  bottle.  If  the  break- 
fast bell  rings,  and  we  don't  come  right  away 
down  to  the  breakfast,  then  there  won't  be  no 
breakfast  for  us. 

When  she  got  through  with  reading  the  rules, 
I  was  wondering  which  side  of  the  house  I  was 
to  walk  on.  At  every  step  was  some  rule  what 
said  don't  move  here,  and  don't  go  there,  don't 
stand  there,  and  don't  sit  there.  If  I  tried  to 
remember  the  endless  rules,  it  would  only  make 
me  dizzy  in  the  head.  I  was  thinking  for  why, 
with  so  many  rules,  did  n't  they  also  have  al- 
ready another  rule,  about  how  much  air  in  our 
lungs  to  breathe. 

On  every  few  days  there  came  to  the  house 
swell  ladies  in  automobiles.  It  was  for  them 
that  the  front  from  the  house  had  to  be  always 
perfect.  For  them  was  all  the  beautiful  smelling 
flowers.  For  them  the  front  porch,  the  front 
sitting-room,  and  the  easy  stairs  with  the  carpet 
on  it. 

Always  when  the  rich  ladies  came  the  fat 
lady,  what'was  the  boss  from  the  vacation  house, 
showed  off  to  them  the  front.  Then  she  took 
no 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

them  over  to  the  back  to  look  on  us,  where  we 
was  sitting  together,  on  long  wooden  benches, 
like  prisoners.  I  was  always  feeling  cheap  like 
dirt,  and  mad  that  I  had  to  be  there,  when  they 
smiled  down  on  us. 

"How  nice  for  these  poor  creatures  to  have  a 
restful  place  like  this,"  I  heard  one  lady  say. 

The  next  day  I  already  felt  like  going  back. 
The  children  what  had  to  stay  by  the  nurse  in 
the  play-room  did  n't  like  it  neither. 

"Mamma,"  says  Mendel  to  me,  "I  wisht  I 
was  home  and  out  in  the  street.  They  don't  let 
us  do  nothing  here.  It's  worser  than  school." 

"Ain't  it  a  play-room?"  asks  I.  "Don't  they 
let  you  play?" 

"Gee  wiss !  play-room,  they  call  it!  The  nurse 
hollers  on  us  all  the  time.  She  don't  let  us  do 
nothing." 

The  reason  why  I  stayed  out  the  whole  two 
weeks  is  this :  I  think  to  myself,  so  much  shame 
in  the  face  I  suffered  to  come  here,  let  me  at 
least  make  the  best  from  it  already.  Let  me  at 
least  save  up  for  two  weeks  what  I  got  to  spend 
out  for  grocery  and  butcher  for  my  back  bills  to 
in 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

pay  out.  And  then  also  think  I  to  myself,  if  I  go 
back  on  Monday,  I  got  to  do  the  big  washing;  on 
Tuesday  waits  for  me  the  ironing;  on  Wednes- 
day, the  scrubbing  and  cleaning,  and  so  goes  it 
on.  How  bad  it  is  already  in  this  place,  it's  a 
change  from  the  very  same  sameness  of  what 
I  'm  having  day  in  and  day  out  at  home.  And  so 
I  stayed  out  this  vacation  to  the  bitter  end. 

But  at  last  the  day  for  going  out  from  this 
prison  came.  On  the  way  riding  back,  I  kept 
thinking  to  myself:  "This  is  such  a  beautiful 
vacation  house.  For  why  do  they  make  it  so 
hard  for  us  ?  When  a  mother  needs  a  vacation, 
why  must  they  tear  the  insides  out  from  her 
first,  by  making  her  come  down  to  the  charity 
office?  Why  drag  us  from  the  charity  office 
through  the  streets?  And  when  we  live  through 
the  shame  of  the  charities  and  when  we  come 
already  to  the  vacation  house,  for  why  do  they 
boss  the  life  out  of  us  with  so  many  rules  and 
bells  ?  For  why  don't  they  let  us  lay  down  our 
heads  on  the  bed  when  we  are  tired  ?  For  why 
must  we  always  stick  in  the  back,  like  dogs  what 
have  got  to  be  chained  in  one  spot?  If  they 

112 


THE  FREE  VACATION  HOUSE 

would  let  us  walk  around  free,  would  we  bite  off 
something  from  the  front  part  of  the  house  ? 

"If  the  best  part  of  the  house  what  is  com- 
fortable is  made  up  for  a  show  for  visitors,  why 
ain't  they  keeping  the  whole  business  for  a 
show  for  visitors?  For  why  do  they  have  to 
fool  in  worn-out  mothers,  to  make  them  think 
they'll  give  them  a  rest?  Do  they  need  the 
worn-out  mothers  as  part  of  the  show  ?  I  guess 
that  is  it,  already." 

When  I  got  back  in  my  home,  so  happy  and 
thankful  I  was  I  could  cry  from  thankfulness. 
How  good  it  was  feeling  for  me  to  be  able  to 
move  around  my  own  house,  like  I  pleased.  I 
was  always  kicking  that  my  rooms  was  small 
and  narrow,  but  now  my  small  rooms  seemed  to 
grow  so  big  like  the  park.  I  looked  out  from  my 
window  on  the  fire-escapes,  full  with  bedding 
and  garbage-cans,  and  on  the  wash-lines  full 
with  the  clothes.  All  these  ugly  things  was  grand 
in  my  eyes.  Even  the  high  brick  walls  all  around 
made  me  feel  like  a  bird  what  just  jumped  out 
from  a  cage.  And  I  cried  out,  "Gott  sei  dank! 
Gottseidank!" 


THE  MIRACLE 

LIKE  all  people  who  have  nothing,  I  lived  on 
dreams.  With  nothing  but  my  longing  for  love, 
I  burned  my  way  through  stone  walls  till  I  got 
to  America.  And  what  happened  to  me  when  I 
became  an  American  is  more  than  I  can  picture 
before  my  eyes,  even  in  a  dream. 

I  was  a  poor  Melamid's  daughter  in  Savel, 
Poland.  In  my  village,  a  girl  without  a  dowry 
was  a  dead  one.  The  only  kind  of  a  man  that 
would  give  a  look  on  a  girl  without  money  was  a 
widower  with  a  dozen  children,  or  some  one  with 
a  hump  or  on  crutches. 

There  was  the  village  water-carrier  with  red, 
teary  eyes,  and  warts  on  his  cracked  lip.  There 
was  the  janitor  of  the  bath-house,  with  a  squash 
nose,  and  long,  black  nails  with  all  the  dirt  of 
the  world  under  them.  Maybe  one  of  these  ugli- 
nesses might  yet  take  pity  on  me  and  do  me  the 
favor  to  marry  me.  I  shivered  and  grew  cold 
through  all  my  bones  at  the  thought  of  them. 
114 


THE  MIRACLE 

Like  the  hunger  for  bread  was  my  hunger  for 
love.  My  life  was  nothing  to  me.  My  heart  was 
empty.  Nothing  I  did  was  real  without  love.  I 
used  to  spend  nights  crying  on  my  pillow,  pray- 
ing to  God:  "I  want  love!  I  want  love!  I  can't 
live  —  I  can't  breathe  without  love!" 

And  all  day  long  I'd  ask  myself:  "Why  was 
I  bora  ?  What  is  the  use  of  dragging  on  day  after 
day,  wasting  myself  eating,  sleeping,  dressing? 
What  is  the  meaning  of  anything  without  love  ? ' J 
And  my  heart  was  so  hungry  I  could  n't  help 
feeling  and  dreaming  that  somehow,  somewhere, 
there  must  be  a  lover  waiting  for  me.  But  how 
and  where  could  I  find  my  lover  was  the  one 
longing  that  burned  in  my  heart  by  day  and  by 
night. 

Then  came  the  letter  from  Hanneh  Hay- 
yeh,  Zlata's  daughter,  that  fired  me  up  to  go  to 
America  for  my  lover. 

"America  is  a  lover's  land,"  said  Hanneh 
Hayyeh's  letter.  "In  America  millionaires  fall 
in  love  with  poorest  girls.  Matchmakers  are  out 
of  style,  and  a  girl  can  get  herself  married  to  a 
man  without  the  worries  for  a  dowry." 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"God  from  the  world!"  began  knocking  my 
heart.  "How  grand  to  live  where  the  kind  of  a 
man  you  get  don't  depend  on  how  much  money 
your  father  can  put  down !  If  I  could  only  go  to 
America !  There — there  waits  my  lover  for  me." 

That  letter  made  a  holiday  all  over  Savel.  The 
butcher,  the  grocer,  the  shoemaker,  everybody 
stopped  his  work  and  rushed  to  our  house  to 
hear  my  father  read  the  news  from  the  Golden 
Country. 

"Stand  out  your  ears  to  hear  my  great  happi- 
ness," began  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  letter.  "I,  Han- 
neh  Hayyeh,  will  marry  myself  to  Solomon 
Cohen,  the  boss  from  the  shirtwaist  factory, 
where  all  day  I  was  working  sewing  on  buttons. 
If  you  could  only  see  how  the  man  is  melting 
away  his  heart  for  me!  He  kisses  me  after  each 
step  I  walk.  The  only  wish  from  his  heart  is  to 
make  me  for  a  lady.  Think  only,  he  is  buying 
me  a  piano!  I  should  learn  piano  lessons  as  if 
I  were  from  millionaires." 

Fire  and  lightning  burst  through  the  crowd. 
"Hanneh  Hayyeh  a  lady!"  They  nudged  and 
winked  one  to  the  other  as  they  looked  on  the 
116 


THE  MIRACLE 

loose  fatness  of  Zlata,  her  mother,  and  saw  be- 
fore their  eyes  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  with  her  thick, 
red  lips,  and  her  shape  so  fat  like  a  puffed-out 
barrel  of  yeast. 

"In  America  is  a  law  called  'ladies  first/" 
the  letter  went  on.  "In  the  cars  the  men  must 
get  up  to  give  their  seats  to  the  women.  The 
men  hold  the  babies  on  their  hands  and  carry 
the  bundles  for  the  women,  and  even  help  with 
the  dishes.  There  are  not  enough  women  to  go 
around  in  America.  And  the  men  run  after  the 
women,  and  not  like  in  Poland,  the  women  run- 
ning after  the  men." 

Gewalt!  What  an  excitement  began  to  burn 
through  the  whole  village  when  they  heard  of 
Hanneh  Hayyeh's  luck! 

The  ticket  agents  from  the  ship  companies 
seeing  how  Hanneh  Hayyeh's  letter  was  work- 
ing like  yeast  in  the  air  for  America,  posted  up 
big  signs  by  all  the  market  fairs:  "Go  to  Amer- 
ica, the  New  World.  Fifty  rubles  a  ticket." 

"Fifty  rubles!  Only  fifty  rubles!  And  there 
waits  your  lover!"  cried  my  heart. 

Oi  weh!  How  I  was  hungering  to  go  to  Amer- 
117 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

ica  after  that!  By  day  and  by  night  I  was  tearing 
and  turning  over  the  earth,  how  to  get  to  my 
lover  on  the  other  side  of  the  world. 

"Nu,  Zalmon  ? "  said  my  mother,  twisting  my 
father  around  to  what  I  wanted.  "It's  not  so 
far  from  sense  what  Sara  Reisel  is  saying.  In 
Savel,  without  a  dowry,  she  had  no  chance  to 
get  a  man,  and  if  we  got  to  wait  much  longer 
she  will  be  too  old  to  get  one  anywhere." 

"But  from  where  can  we  get  together  the 
fifty  rubles?"  asked  my  father.  "Why  don't 
it  will  itself  in  you  to  give  your  daughter  the 
moon?" 

I  could  no  more  think  on  how  to  get  the 
money  than  they.  But  I  was  so  dying  to  go, 
I  felt  I  could  draw  the  money  out  from  the 
sky. 

One  night  I  could  not  fall  asleep.  I  lay  in  the 
darkness  and  stillness,  my  wild,  beating  heart 
on  fire  with  dreams  of  my  lover.  I  put  out  my 
hungry  hands  and  prayed  to  my  lover  through 
the  darkness:  "Oh,  love,  love!  How  can  I  get 
the  fifty  rubles  to  come  to  you?" 

In  the  morning  I  got  up  like  one  choking  for 
118 


THE  MIRACLE 

air.  We  were  sitting  down  to  eat  breakfast,  but 
I  could  n't  taste  nothing.  I  felt  my  head  drop 
into  my  hands  from  weakness. 

"Why  don't  you  try  to  eat  something?" 
begged  my  mother,  going  over  to  me. 

"Eat?"  I  cried,  jumping  up  like  one  mad. 
"How  can  I  eat?  How  can  I  sleep?  How  can  I 
breathe  in  this  deadness  ?  I  want  to  go  to  Amer- 
ica. I  must  go,  and  I  will  go!" 

My  mother  began  wringing  her  hands.  "Oi 
weh !  Mine  heart !  The  knife  is  on  our  neck.  The 
landlord  is  hollering  for  the  unpaid  rent,  and  it 
wills  itself  in  you  America?" 

"Are  you  out  of  your  head  ? "  cried  my  father. 

"What  are  you  dreaming  of  golden  hills  on 
the  sky?  How  can  we  get  together  the  fifty 
rubles  for  a  ticket?" 

I  stole  a  look  at  Yosef,  my  younger  brother. 
Nothing  that  was  sensible  ever  laid  in  his  head 
to  do;  but  if  there  was  anything  wild,  up  in  the 
air  that  willed  itself  in  him,  he  could  break 
through  stone  walls  to  get  it.  Yosef  gave  a  look 
around  the  house.  Everything  was  old  and  poor, 
and  not  a  thing  to  get  money  on  —  nothing 
119 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

except  father's  Saifer  Torah  —  the  Holy  Scrolls 
—  and  mother's  silver  candlesticks,  her  wedding 
present  from  our  grandmother. 

"Why  not  sell  the  Saifer  Torah  and  the  can- 
dlesticks ? "  said  Yosef . 

Nobody  but  my  brother  would  have  dared  to 
breathe  such  a  thing. 

"What?  A  Jew  sell  the  Saifer  Torah  or  the 
Sabbath  candlesticks?"  My  father  fixed  on  us 
his  burning  eyes  like  flaming  wells.  His  hands 
tightened  over  his  heart.  He  could  n't  speak. 
He  just  looked  on  the  Saifer  Torah,  and  then 
on  us  with  a  look  that  burned  like  live  coals  on 
our  naked  bodies.  "What? "  he  gasped.  "Should 
I  sell  my  life,  my  soul  from  generation  and  gen- 
eration? Sell  my  Saifer  Torah?  Not  if  the  world 
goes  under!" 

There  was  a  stillness  of  thunder  about  to 
break.  Everybody  heard  everybody's  heart 
beating. 

"Did  I  live  to  see  this  black  day?"  moaned 
my  father,  choking  from  quick  breathing. 
"Mine  own  son,  mine  Kadish  —  mine  Kadish 
tells  me  to  sell  the  Holy  Book  that  our  fore- 

120 


THE  MIRACLE 

fathers  shed  rivers  of  blood  to  hand  down  to 
us." 

"What  are  you  taking  it  so  terrible?"  said  my 
brother.  "Does  n't  it  stand  in  the  Talmud  that 
to  help  marry  his  daughter  a  man  may  sell  the 
holiest  thing  —  even  the  Holy  Book  ? " 

"Are  there  miracles  in  America?  Can  she 
yet  get  there  a  man  at  her  age  and  without  a 
dowry?" 

"  If  Hanneh  Hayyeh,  who  is  older  than  Sara 
Reisel  and  not  half  as  good-looking,"  said 
my  brother,  "could  get  a  boss  from  a  factory, 
then  whom  cannot  Sara  Reisel  pick  out?  And 
with  her  luck  all  of  us  will  be  lifted  over  to 
America." 

My  father  did  not  answer.  I  waited,  but  still 
he  did  not  answer. 

At  last  I  burst  out  with  all  the  tears  choking 
in  me  for  years:  "Is  your  old  Saifer  Torah  that 
hangs  on  the  wall  dearer  to  you  than  that  I 
should  marry  ?  The  Talmud  tells  you  to  sell  the 
holiest  thing  to  help  marry  your  daughter,  but 
you  —  you  love  yourself  more  than  your  owm 
child!" 

J2I 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Then  I  turned  to  my  mother.  I  hit  my  hands 
on  the  table  and  cried  in  a  voice  that  made  her 
tremble  and  grow  frightened:  "Maybe  you  love 
your  silver  candlesticks  more  than  your  daugh- 
ter's happiness?  To  whom  can  I  marry  myself 
here,  I  ask  you,  only  —  to  the  bath  janitor,  to 
the  water-carrier?  I  tell  you  I'll  kill  myself  if 
you  don't  help  me  get  away!  I  can't  stand  no 
more  this  deadness  here.  I  must  get  away.  And 
you  must  give  up  everything  to  help  me  get 
away.  All  I  need  is  a  chance.  I  can  do  a  million 
times  better  than  Hanneh  Hayyeh.  I  got  a 
head.  I  got  brains.  I  feel  I  can  marry  myself 
to  the  greatest  man  in  America." 

My  mother  stopped  crying,  took  up  the  can- 
dlesticks from  the  mantelpiece  and  passed  her 
hands  over  them.  "It's  like  a  piece  from  my 
flesh,"  she  said.  "We  grew  up  with  this,  you 
children  and  I,  and  my  mother  and  my  mother's 
mother.  This  and  the  Saifer  Torah  are  the  only 
things  that  shine  up  the  house  for  the  Sabbath." 

She  could  n't  go  on,  her  words  choked  in  her 
so.  I  am  seeing  yet  how  she  looked,  holding  the 
candlesticks  in  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  that  she 

122 


THE  MIRACLE 

turned  on  us.  But  then  I  did  n't  see  anything 
but  to  go  to  America. 

She  walked  over  to  my  father,  who  sat  with 
his  head  in  his  hands,  stoned  with  sadness. 
"Zalmon!"  she  sobbed.  "The  blood  from  under 
my  nails  I  '11  give  away,  only  my  child  should 
have  a  chance  to  marry  herself  well.  I'll  give 
away  my  candlesticks — " 

Even  my  brother  Yosef's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
so  he  quick  jumped  up  and  began  to  whistle  and 
move  around.  "You  don't  have  to  sell  them," 
he  cried,  trying  to  make  it  light  in  the  air.  "You 
can  pawn  them  by  Moisheh  Itzek,  the  usurer, 
and  as  soon  as  Sara  Reisel  will  get  herself  mar- 
ried, she  '11  send  us  the  money  to  get  them  out 
again,  and  we'll  yet  live  to  take  them  over  with 
us  to  America." 

I  never  saw  my  father  look  so  sad.  He  looked 
like  a  man  from  whom  the  life  is  bleeding  away. 
"I'll  not  stand  myself  against  your  happiness," 
he  said,  in  a  still  voice.  "I  only  hope  this  will  be 
to  your  luck  and  that  you  '11  get  married  quick, 
so  we  could  take  out  the  Saifer  Torah  from  the 
pawn." 

123 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

In  less  than  a  week  the  Saifer  Torah  and  the 
candlesticks  were  pawned  and  the  ticket  bought. 
The  whole  village  was  ringing  with  the  news 
that  I  am  going  to  America.  When  I  walked  in 
the  street  people  pointed  on  me  with  their  fin- 
gers as  if  I  were  no  more  the  same  Sara  Reisel. 

Everybody  asked  me  different  questions. 

"Tell  me  how  it  feels  to  go  to  America?  Can 
you  yet  sleep  nights  like  other  people  ? " 

"When  you  '11  marry  yourself  in  America, 
will  you  yet  remember  us?" 

God  from  the  world !  That  last  Friday  night 
before  I  went  to  America!  Maybe  it  is  the  last 
time  we  are  together  was  in  everybody's  eyes. 
Everything  that  happened  seemed  so  different 
from  all  other  times.  I  felt  I  was  getting  ready 
to  tear  my  life  out  from  my  body. 

Without  the  Saifer  Torah  the  house  was  dark 
and  empty.  The  sun,  the  sky,  the  whole  heaven 
shined  from  that  Holy  Book  on  the  wall,  and 
when  it  was  taken  out  it  left  an  aching  empti- 
ness on  the  heart,  as  if  something  beautiful 
passed  out  of  our  lives. 

I  yet  see  before  me  my  father  in  the  Rabbi's 
124 


THE  MIRACLE 

cap,  with  eyes  that  look  far  away  into  things; 
the  way  he  sang  the  prayer  over  the  wine  when 
he  passed  around  the  glass  for  every  one  to  give 
a  sip.  The  tears  rolled  out  from  my  little  sister's 
eyes  down  her  cheeks  and  fell  into  the  wine.  On 
that  my  mother,  who  was  all  the  time  wiping 
her  tears,  burst  out  crying.  "  Shah !  Shah ! "  com- 
manded my  father,  rising  up  from  his  chair  and 
beginning  to  walk  around  the  room.  "It's  Sab- 
bath night,  when  every  Jew  should  be  happy.  Is 
this  the  way  you  give  honor  to  God  on  His  one 
day  that  He  set  aside  for  you?" 

On  the  next  day,  that  was  Sabbath,  father  as 
if  held  us  up  in  his  hands,  and  everybody  be- 
haved himself.  A  stranger  coming  in  could  n't 
see  anything  that  was  going  on,  except  that  we 
walked  so  still  and  each  one  by  himself,  as  if 
somebody  dying  was  in  the  air  over  us. 

On  the  going-away  morning,  everybody  was 
around  our  house  waiting  to  take  me  to  the  sta- 
tion. Everybody  wanted  to  give  a  help  with 
the  bundles.  The  moving  along  to  the  station 
was  like  a  funeral.  Nobody  could  hold  in  their 
feelings  any  longer.  Everybody  fell  on  my 
125 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

neck  to  kiss  me,  as  if  it  was  my  last  day  on 
earth. 

"Remember  you  come  from  Jews.  Remember 
to  pray  every  day,"  said  my  father,  putting  his 
hands  over  my  head,  like  in  blessing  on  the  day 
of  Atonement. 

"Only  try  that  we  should  be  together  soon 
again,"  were  the  last  words  from  my  mother  as 
she  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  shawl. 

"Only  don't  forget  that  I  want  to  study,  and 
send  for  me  as  quick  as  you  marry  yourself," 
said  Yosef,  smiling  good-bye  with  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

As  I  saw  the  train  coming,  what  would  n't  I 
have  given  to  stay  back  with  the  people  in  Savel 
forever!  I  wanted  to  cry  out:  "Take  only  away 
my  ticket!  I  don't  want  any  more  America!  I 
don't  want  any  more  my  lover!" 

But  as  soon  as  I  got  into  the  train,  although 
my  eyes  were  still  looking  back  to  the  left-behind 
faces,  and  my  ears  were  yet  hearing  the  good- 
byes and  the  partings,  the  thoughts  of  America 
began  stealing  into  my  heart.  I  was  thinking 
how  soon  I'd  have  my  lover  and  be  rich  like 
126 


THE  MIRACLE 

Hanneh  Hayyeh.  And  with  my  luck,  everybody 
was  going  to  be  happy  in  Savel.  TheMead  people 
will  stop  dying  and  all  the  sorrows  and  troubles 
of  the  world  will  be  wiped  away  with  my  happi- 
ness. 

I  did  n't  see  the  day.  I  did  n't  see  the  night.  I 
did  n't  see  the  ocean.  I  did  n't  see  the  sky.  I  only 
saw  my  lover  in  America,  coming  nearer  and 
nearer  to  me,  till  I  could  feel  his  eyes  bending 
on  me  so  near  that  I  got  frightened  and  began 
to  tremble.  My  heart  ached  so  with  the  joy  of 
his  nearness  that  I  quick  drew  back  and  turned 
away,  and  began  to  talk  to  the  people  that  were 
pushing  and  crowding  themselves  on  the  deck. 

Nu,  I  got  to  America. 

Ten  hours  I  pushed  a  machine  in  a  shirt-waist 
factory,  when  I  was  yet  lucky  to  get  work.  And 
always  my  head  was  drying  up  with  saving  and 
pinching  and  worrying  to  send  home  a  little 
from  the  little  I  earned.  All  that  my  face  saw  all 
day  long  was  girls  and  machines  —  and  nothing 
else.  And  even  when  I  came  already  home  from 
work,  I  could  only  talk  to  the  girls  in  the  work- 
ing-girls' boarding-house,  or  shut  myself  up  in 
127 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

my  dark,  lonesome  bedroom.  No  family,  no 
friends,  nobody  to  get  me  acquainted  with  no- 
body! The  only  men  I  saw  were  what  passed 
me  by  in  the  street  and  in  cars. 

"Is  this  'lovers'  land'?"  was  calling  'in  my 
heart.  "Where  are  my  dreams  that  were  so  real 
to  me  in  the  old  country?" 

Often  in  the  middle  of  the  work  I  felt  like 
stopping  all  the  machines  and  crying  out  to 
the  world  the  heaviness  that  pressed  on  my 
heart.  Sometimes  when  I  walked  in  the  street  I 
felt  like  goingover  to  the  first  man  I  met  and  cry 
out  to  him :  "Oh,  I 'm  so  lonely !  I'm  so  lonely ! " 

One  day  I  read  in  the  Jewish  "Tageblatt" 
the  advertisement  from  Zaretzky,  the  match- 
maker. "What  harm  is  it  if  I  try  my  luck?"  I 
taid  to  myself.  "I  can't  die  away  an  old  maid. 
Too  much  love  burns  in  my  heart  to  stand  back 
like  a  stone  and  only  see  how  other  people  are 
happy.  I  want  to  tear  myself  out  from  my  dead- 
ness.  I  'm  in  a  living  grave.  I  Ve  got  to  lift  my- 
self up.  I  have  nobody  to  try  for  me,  and  maybe 
the  matchmaker  will  help." 

As  I  walked  up  Delancey  Street  to  Mr.  Zaret- 
128 


THE  MIRACLE 

zky,  the  street  was  turning  with  me.  I  did  n't 
see  'the  crowds.  I  did  n't  see  the  pushcart  ped- 
dlers with  their  bargains.  I  did  n't  hear  the 
noises  or  anything.  My  eyes  were  on  the  sky, 
praying:  "Gottuniu !  Send  me  only  the  little  bit 
of  luck!" 

T"Nu?  Nu?  What  need  you?"  asked  Mr.  Za- 
retzky  when  I  entered. 

I  got  red  with  shame  in  the  face  the  way  he 
looked  at  me.  I  turned  up  my  head.  I  was  too 
proud  to  tell  him  for  what  I  came.  Before  I 
walked  in  I  thought  to  tell  him  everything.  But 
when  I  looked  on  his  face  and  saw  his  hard  eyes, 
I  could  n't  say  a  word.  I  stood  like  a  yok  unable 
to  move  my  tongue.  I  went  to  the  matchmaker 
with  my  heart,  and  I  saw  before  me  a  stone. 
The  stone  was  talking  to  me  —  but  —  but — he 
was  a  stone! 

''Are  you  looking  for  a  shidduch?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  proud,  but  crushed. 

"You  know  I  charge  five  dollars  for  the  step- 
ping in,"  he  bargained. 

It  got  cold  by  my  heart.  It  was  n't  only  t» 
give  him  the  five  dollars,  nearly  a  whole  week's 
129 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

wages,  but  his  thick-skinness  for  being  only 
after  the  money.  But  I  could  n't  help  myself  — 
I  was  like  in  his  fists  hypnotized.  And  I  gave  him 
the  five  dollars. 

I  let  myself  go  to  the  door,  but  he  called  me 
back. 

"Wait,  wait.  Come  in  and  sit  down.  I  did  n't 
question  you  yet." 

"About  what?" 

"I  got  to  know  how  much  money  you  got 
saved  before  I  can  introduce  you  to  anybody." 

"Oh — h — h!  Is  it  only  depending  on  the 
money?" 

"Certainly.  No  move  in  this  world  without 
money,"  he  said,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  his 
black,  hairy  fingers  and  sniffing  it  up  in  his  nose. 

I  glanced  on  his  thick  neck  and  greasy,  red 
face.  "And  to  him  people  come  looking  for 
love,"  I  said  to  myself,  shuddering.  Oh,  how  it 
burned  in  my  heart,  but  still  I  went  on,  "Can't 
I  get  a  man  in  America  without  money?" 

He  gave  a  look  on  me  with  his  sharp  eyes. 
Gottuniu!  What  a  look!  I  thought  I  was  sinking 
into  the  floor. 

130 


THE  MIRACLE 

"  There  are  plenty  of  young  girls  with  money 
that  are  begging  themselves  the  men  to  take 
them.  So  what  can  you  expect?  Not  young,  not 
lively,  and  without  money,  too?  But,  anyhow,  I  '11 
see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

He  took  out  a  little  book  from  his  vest-pocket 
and  looked  through  the  names. 

"What  trade  do  you  go  on  your  hands?"  he 
asked,  turning  to  me.  "  Sometimes  a  dressmaker 
or  a  hairdresser  that  can  help  make  a  living  for  a 
man,  maybe  — 

I  could  n't  hear  any  more.  It  got  black  before 
my  eyes,  my  voice  stopped  inside  of  me. 

"  If  you  want  to  listen  to  sense  from  a  friend, 
so  I  have  a  good  match  for  you,"  he  said,  follow- 
ing me  to  the  door.  "  I  have  on  my  list  a  widower 
with  not  more  than  five  or  six  children.  He  has  a 
grand  business,  a  herring-stand  onHester  Street. 
He  don't  ask  for  no  money,  and  he  don't  make 
an  objection  if  the  girl  is  in  years,  so  long  as  she 
knows  how  to  cook  well  for  him." 

How  I  got  myself  back  to  my  room  I  don't 
know.  But  for  two  days  and  for  two  nights  I 
lay  still  on  my  bed,  unable  to  move.  I  looked 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

around  on  my  empty  walls,  thinking,  thinking, 
"Where  am  I?  Is  this  the  world?  Is  this  Amer- 
ica?" 

Suddenly  I  sprang  up  from  bed.  "What  can 
come  from  pitying  yourself?"!  cried.  "If  the 
world  kicks  you  down  and  makes  nothing  of 
you,  you  bounce  yourself  up  and  make  some- 
thing of  yourself."  A  fire  blazed  up  in  me  to 
rise  over  the  world  because  I  was  downed  by 
the  world. 

"Make  a  person  of  yourself,"  I  said.  "Begin 
to  learn  English.  Make  yourself  for  an  Ameri- 
can if  you  want  to  live  in  America.  American 
girls  don't  go  to  matchmakers.  American  girls 
don't  run  after  a  man :  if  they  don't  get  a  hus- 
band they  don't  think  the  world  is  over;  they 
turn  their  mind  to  something  else. 

"Wake  up!"  I  said  to  myself.  "You  want 
love  to  come  to  you  ?  Why  don't  you  give  it  out 
to  other  people  ?  Love  the  women  and  children, 
everybody  in  the  street  and  the  shop.  Love  the 
rag-picker  and  the  drunkard,  the  bad  and  the 
ugly.  All  those  whom  the  world  kicks  down  you 
pick  up  and  press  to  your  heart  with  love." 
132 


THE  MIRACLE 

As  I  said  this  I  felt  wells  of  love  that  choked 
in  me  all  my  life  flowing  out  of  me  and  over  me. 
A  strange,  wonderful  light  like  a  lover's  smile 
melted  over  me,  and  the  sweetness  of  lover's 
arms  stole  around  me. 

The  first  night  I  went  to  school  I  felt  like  fall- 
ing on  everybody's  neck  and  kissing  them.  I 
felt  like  kissing  the  books  and  the  benches.  It 
was  such  great  happiness  to  learn  to  read  and 
write  the  English  words. 

Because  I  started  a  few  weeks  after  the  begin- 
ning of  the  term,  my  teacher  said  I  might  stay 
after  the  class  to  help  me  catch  up  with  my  back 
lessons.  The  minute  I  looked  on  him  I  felt  that 
grand  feeling:  "Here  is  a  person!  Here  is  Amer- 
ica!" His  face  just  shined  with  high  thoughts. 
There  was  such  a  beautiful  light  in  his  eyes  that 
it  warmed  my  heart  to  steal  a  look  on  him. 

At  first,  when  it  came  my  turn  to  say  some- 
thing in  the  class,  I  got  so  excited  -the  words 
stuck  and  twisted  in  my  mouth  and  I  could  n't 
give  out  my  thoughts.  But  the  teacher  did  n't 
see  my  nervousness.  He  only  saw  that  I  had 
something  to  say,  and  he  helped  me  say  it.  How 
133 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

or  what  he  did  I  don't  know.  I  only  felt  his  look 
of  understanding  flowing  into  me  like  draughts 
of  air  to  one  who  is  choking. 

Long  after  I  already  felt  free  and  easy  to  talk 
to  him  alone  after  the  class,  I  looked  at  all  the 
books  on  his  desk.  "Oi  weh!"  I  said  to  him, 
"if  I  only  knew  half  of  what  is  in  your  books, 
I  could  n't  any  more  sit  still  in  the  chair  like 
you.  I  'd  fly  in  the  air  with  the  joy  of  so  much 
knowledge." 

"Why  are  you  so  eager  for  learning?"  he 
asked  me. 

"Because  I  want  to  make  a  person  of  my- 
self," I  answered.  "Since  I  got  to  work  for  low 
wages  and  I  can't  be  young  any  more,  I  'm  burn- 
ing to  get  among  people  where  it's  not  against 
a  girl  if  she  is  in  years  and  without  money." 

His  hand  went  out  to  me.  "I '11  help  you,"  he 
said.  "But  you  must  first  learn  to  get  hold  of 
yourself." 

Such  a  beautiful  kindness  went  out  of  his 

heart  to  me  with  his  words !  His  voice,  and  the 

goodness  that  shone  from  his  eyes,  made  me 

want  to  burst  out  crying,  but  I  choked  back  my 

134 


THE  MIRACLE 

tears  till  I  got  home.  And  all  night  long  I  wept 
on  my  pillow:  "Fool!  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Why  are  you  crying  ? "  But  I  said,  "  I  can't 
help  it.  He  is  so  beautiful!" 

My  teacher  was  so  much  above  me  that  he 
was  n't  a  man  to  me  at  all.  He  was  a  God.  His 
face  lighted  up  the  shop  for  me,  and  his  voice 
sang  itself  in  me  everywhere  I  went.  It  was 
like  healing  medicine  to  the  flaming  fever  within 
me  to  listen  to  his  voice.  And  then  I  'd  repeat  to 
myself  his  words  and  live  in  them  as  if  they  were 
religion. 

Often  as  I  sat  at  the  machine  sewing  the 
waists  I  Jd  forget  what  I  was  doing.  I  'd  find  my- 
self dreaming  in  the  air.  "Ach!"  I  asked  myself, 
"what  was  that  beautifulness  in  his  eyes  that 
made  the  lowest  nobody  feel  like  a  somebody? 
What  was  that  about  him  that  when  his  smile 
fell  on  me  I  felt  lifted  up  to  the  sky  away  from 
all  the  coldness  and  the  ugliness  of  the  world? 
Gottunui!"  I  prayed,  "if  I  could  only  always 
hold  on  to  the  light  of  high  thoughts  that  shined 
from  him.  If  I  could  only  always  hear  in  my 
heart  the  sound  of  his  voice  I  would  need 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

nothing  more  in  life.  I  would  be  happier  than 
a  bird  in  the  air. 

"Friend,"  I  said  to  him  once,  "if  you  could 
but  teach  me  how  to  get  cold  in  the  heart  and 
clear  in  the  head  like  you  are!" 

He  only  smiled  at  me  and  looked  far  away. 
His  calmness  was  like  the  sureness  of  money 
in  the  bank.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  on  me, 
and  said:  "I  am  not  so  cold  in  the  heart  and 
clear  in  the  head  as  I  make-believe.  I  am  bound. 
I  am  a  prisoner  of  convention." 

"You  make-believe  —  you  bound?"  I  burst 
out.  "You  who  do  not  have  foreladies  or  bosses 
—  you  who  do  not  have  to  sell  yourself  for  wages 
— you  who  only  work  for  love  and  truth  —  you 
a  prisoner?" 

"True,  I  do  not  have  bosses  just  as  you  do," 
he  said.  "But  still  I  am  not  free.  I  am  bound  by 
formal  education  and  conventional  traditions. 
Though  you  work  in  a  shop,  you  are  really  freer 
than  I.  You  are  not  repressed  as  I  am  by  the 
fear  and  shame  of  feeling.  You  could  teach  me 
more  than  I  could  teach  you.  You  could  teach 
me  how  to  be  natural." 
136 


THE  MIRACLE 

"I'm  not  so  natural  like  you  think,"!  said. 
"I'm  afraid." 

He  smiled  at  me  out  of  his  eyes.  "What  are 
you  afraid  of?" 

"I'm  afraid  of  my  heart,"  I  said,  trying  to, 
hold  back  the  blood  rushing  to  my  face.  "  I  'm 
burning  to  get  calm  and  sensible  like  the  born 
Americans.  But  how  can  I  help  it?  My  heart 
flies  away  from  me  like  a  wild  bird.  How  can  I 
learn  to  keep  myself  down  on  earth  like  the  born 
Americans?" 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  get  down  on  earth 
like  the  Americans.  That  is  just  the  beauty  and 
the  wonder  of  you.  We  Americans  are  too  much 
on  earth ;  we  need  more  of  your  power  to  fly.  If 
you  would  only  know  how  much  you  can  teach 
us  Americans.  You  are  the  promise  of  the  centu- 
ries to  come.  You  are  the  heart,  the  creative 
pulse  of  America  to  be." 

I  walked  home  on  wings.  My  teacher  said  that 
I  could  help  him;  that  I  had  something  to  give 
to  Americans.  "But  how  could  I  teach  him?" 
I  wondered;  "I  who  had  never  had  a  chance  to 
learn  anything  except  what  he  taught  me.  And 
137 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

what  had  I  to  give  to  the  Americans,  I  who  am 
nothing  but  dreams  and  longings  and  hunger  for 
love?" 

When  school  closed  down  for  vacation,  it 
seemed  to  me  all  life  stopped  in  the  world.  I  had 
no  more  class  to  look  forward  to,  no  more  chance 
of  seeing  my  teacher.  As  I  faced  the  emptiness 
of  my  long  vacation,  all  the  light  went  out  of  my 
eyes,  and  all  the  strength  out  of  my  arms  and 
fingers. 

For  nearly  a  week  I  was'  like  without  air. 
There  was  no  school.  One  night  I  came  home 
from  the  shop  and  threw  myself  down  on  the 
bed.  I  wanted  to  cry,  to  let  out  the  heavy  weight 
that  pressed  on  my  heart,  but  I  could  n't  cry. 
My  tears  felt  like  hot,  burning  sand  in  my 
eyes. 

"Oi-i-i!  I  can't  stand  it  no  more,  this  empti- 
ness," I  groaned.  "Why  don't  I  kill  myself? 
Why  don't  something  happen  to  me?  No  con- 
sumption, no  fever,  no  plague  or  death  ever 
comes  to  save  me  from  this  terrible  world.  I 
have  to  go  on  suffering  and  choking  inside  my- 
self till  I  grow  mad." 

138 


THE  MIRACLE 

I  jumped  up  from  the  bed,  threw  open  the 
window,  and  began  fighting  with  the  deaf-and- 
dumb  air  in  the  air-shaft. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  I  cried.  "You 
are  going  out  of  your  head.  You  are  sinking 
back  into  the  old  ways  from  which  you  dragged 
yourself  out  with  your  studies.  Studies!  What 
did  I  get  from  all  my  studies?  Nothing.  Nothing. 
I  am  still  in  the  same  shop  with  the  same  shirt- 
waists. A  lot  my  teacher  cares  for  me  once  the 
class  is  over." 

A  fire  burned  up  in  me  that  he  was  already 
forgetting  me.  And  I  shot  out  a  letter  to  him : 

"You  call  yourself  a  teacher?  A  friend?  How 
can  you  go  off  in  the  country  and  drop  me  out 
of  your  heart  and  out  of  your  head  like  a  read- 
over  book  you  left  on  the  shelf  of  your  shut-down 
classroom?  How  can  you  enjoy  your  vacation 
in  the  country  while  I  'm  in  the  sweatshop  ?  You 
learned  me  nothing.  You  only  broke  my  heart. 
What  good  are  all  the  books  you  ever  gave  me? 
They  don't  tell  me  how  to  be  happy  in  a  factory. 
They  don't  tell  me  how  to  keep  alive  in  empti- 
ness, or  how  to  find  something  beautiful  in  the 
139 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

dirt  and  ugliness  in  which  I  got  to  waste  away. 
I  want  life.  I  want  people.  I  can't  live  inside 
my  head  as  you  do." 

I  sent  the  letter  off  in  the  madness  in  which 
I  wrote  it,  without  stopping  to  think;  but  the 
minute  after  I  dropped  it  in  the  mail-box  my 
reason  came  again  to  my  head.  I  went  back 
tearing  my  hair.  "What  have  I  done?  Meshu- 
geneh!" 

Walking  up  the  stairs  I  saw  my  door  open.  I 
went  in.  The  sky  is  falling  to  the  earth!  Am  I 
dreaming?  There  was  my  teacher  sitting  on  my 
trunk!  My  teacher  come  to  see  me?  Me,  in 
my  dingy  room  ?  For  a  minute  it  got  blind  before 
my  eyes,  and  I  did  n't  know  where  I  was  any 
more. 

"I  had  to  come,"  he  said,  the  light  of  heaven 
shining  on  me  out  of  his  eyes.  "I  was  so  desolate 
without  you.  I  tried  to  say  something  to  you 
before  I  left  for  my  vacation,  but  the  words 
would  n't  come.  Since  I  have  been  away  I  have 
written  you  many  letters,  but  I  did  not  mail 
them,  for  they  were  like  my  old  self  from  which 
I  want  to  break  away." 
140 


THE  MIRACLE 

He  put  his  cool,  strong  hand  into  mine.  "You 
can  save  me,"  he  said.  "You  can  free  me  from 
the  bondage  of  age-long  repressions.  You  can 
lift  me  out  of  the  dead  grooves  of  sterile  intel-  v 
lectuality.  Without  you  I  am  the  dry  dust  of 
hopes  unrealized.  You  are  fire  and  sunshine 
and  desire.  You  make  life  changeable  and  beau- 
tiful and  full  of  daily  wonder." 

I  could  n't  speak.  I  was  so  on  fire  with  his 
words.  Then,  like  whirlwinds  in  my  brain, 
rushed  out  the  burning  words  of  the  match- 
maker: "Not  young,  not  lively,  and  without 
money,  too!" 

"You  are  younger  than  youth,"  he  said,  kiss- 
ing my  hands.  "Every  day  of  your  unlived 
youth  shall  be  relived  with  love,  but  such  a  love 
as  youth  could  never  know." 

And  then  how  it  happened  I  don't  know;  but 
his  arms  were  around  me.  "  Sara  Reisel,  tell  me, 
do  you  love  me,"  he  said,  kissing  me  on  my  hair 
and  on  my  eyes  and  on  my  lips. 

I  could  only  weep  and  tremble  with  joy  at 
his  touch.  "The  miracle!"  cried  my  heart;  "the 
miracle  of  America  come  true!" 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

FOR  years  I  was  saying  to  myself  —  Just  so  you 
will  act  when  you  meet  him.  Just  so  you  will 
stand.  So  will  you  look  on  him.  These  words  you 
will  say  to  him. 

I  wanted  to  show  him  that  what  he  had  done 
to  me  could  not  down  me;  that  his  leaving  me 
the  way  he  left  me,  that  his  breaking  my  heart 
the  way  he  broke  it,  did  n't  crush  me;  that  his 
grand  life  and  my  pinched-in  life,  his  having 
learning  and  my  not  having  learning  — •  that 
the  difference  did  n't  count  so  much  like  it 
seemed;  that  on  the  bottom  I  was  the  same  like 
him. 

But  he  came  upon  me  so  sudden,  all  my  plan- 
nings  for  years  smashed  to  the  wall.  The  sight 
of  him  was  like  an  earthquake  shaking  me  to 
pieces. 

I  can't  yet  see  nothing  in  front  of  me  and 
can't  get  my  head  together  to  anything,  so 
torn  up  I  am  from  the  shock. 
142 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

It  was  at  Yetta  Solomon's  wedding  I  met  him 
again.  She  was  after  me  for  weeks  I  should  only 
come. 

"How  can  I  come  to  such  a  swell  hall?"  I 
told  her.  "You  know  I  ain't  got  nothing  decent 
to  wear." 

"Like  you  are  without  no  dressing-up,  I 
want  you  to  come.  You  are  the  kind  what  peo- 
ple look  in  your  eyes  and  not  on  what  you  got 
on.  Ain't  you  yourself  the  one  what  helped  me 
with  my  love  troubles  ?  And  now,  when  every- 
thing is  turning  out  happy,  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  ain't  going  to  be  there?" 

She  gave  me  a  grab  over  and  kissed  me  in  a 
way  that  I  could  n't  say  "No"  to  her. 

So  I  shined  myself  up  in  the  best  I  had  and 
went  to  the  wedding. 

I  was  in  the  middle  from  giving  my  congrat- 
ulations to  Yetta  and  her  new  husband,  when 
—  Gott!  Gott  im  Himmel!  The  sky  is  falling  to 
the  earth !  I  see  him  —  him,  and  his  wife  leaning 
on  his  arm,  coming  over. 

I  gave  a  fall  back,  like  something  sharp  hit 
me.  My  head  got  dizzy,  and  my  eyes  got  blind. 
143 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

I  wanted  to  run  away  from  him,  but,  ach! 
everything  in  me  rushed  to  him. 

I  was  feeling  like  struck  deaf,  dumb,  and 
blind  all  in  one. 

He  must  have  said  something  to  me,  and  I 
must  have  answered  back  something  to  him, 
but  how?  What?  I  only  remember  like  in  a 
dream  my  getting  to  the  cloakroom.  Such  a  tear- 
ing, grinding  pain  was  dragging  me  down  to  the 
floor  that  I  had  to  hold  on  to  the  wall  not  to  fall. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  feel  a  pull  on  my  arm.  It  was 
the  janitor  with  the  broom  in  his  hand. 

"Lady,  are  you  sick?  The  wedding  people  is 
all  gone,  and  I  swept  up  already." 

But  I  could  n't  wake  up  from  myself. 

"Lady,  the  lights  is  going  out,"  he  says, 
looking  on  me  queer. 

"I  think  I  ain't  well,"  I  said.  And  I  went  out. 

Ach,  I  see  again  the  time  when  we  was  lovers ! 
How  beautiful  the  world  was  then ! 

"Maybe  there  never  was  such  love  like  ours, 
and  never  will  be,"  we  was  always  telling  one 
another. 

144 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

When  we  was  together  there  was  like  a  light 
shining  around  us,  the  light  from  his  heart  on 
mine,  and  from  my  heart  on  his.  People  be- 
gan to  look  happy  just  looking  on  us. 

When  we  was  walking  we  did  n't  feel  we  was 
touching  the  earth  but  flying  high  up  through 
the  air.  We  looked  on  the  rest  of  the  people  with 
pity,  because  it  was  seeming  to  us  that  we  was 
the  only  two  persons  awake,  and  all  the  rest  was 
hurrying  and  pushing  and  slaving  and  crowd- 
ing one  on  the  other  without  the  splendidness  of 
feeling  for  what  it  was  all  for,  like  we  was  feel- 
ing it. 

David  was  learning  for  a  doctor.  Daytimes  he 
went  to  college,  and  nights  he  was  in  a  drug- 
store. I  was  working  in  a  factory  on  shirt-waists. 
We  was  poor.  But  we  did  n't  feel  poor.  The 
waists  I  was  sewing  flyed  like  white  birds 
through  my  fingers,  because  his  face  was  shin- 
ing out  of  everything  I  touched. 

David  was  always  trying  to  learn  me  how  to 

make  myself  over  for  an  American.  Sometimes 

he  would  spend  out  fifteen  cents  to  buy  me  the 

"Ladies'  Home  Journal"  to  read  about  Amer- 

I4S 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

lean  life,  and  my  whole  head  was  put  away  on 
how  to  look  neat  and  be  up-to-date  like  the 
American  girls.  Till  long  hours  in  the  night  I 
used  to  stay  up  brushing  and  pressing  my  plain 
blue  suit  with  the  white  collar  what  David 
liked,  and  washing  my  waists,  and  fixing  up  my 
hat  like  the  pattern  magazines  show  you. 

On  holidays  he  took  me  out  for  a  dinner  by  a 
restaurant,  to  learn  me  how  the  Americans  eat, 
with  napkins,  and  use  up  so  many  plates  —  the 
butter  by  itself,  and  the  bread  by  itself,  and  the 
meat  by  itself,  and  the  potatoes  by  itself. 

Always  when  the  six  o'clock  whistle  blowed, 
he  was  waiting  for  me  on  the  corner  from  the 
shop  to  take  me  home. 

"Ut,  there  waits  Sara's  doctor  feller,"  the 
girls  were  nudging  one  to  the  other,  as  we  went 
out  from  the  shop.  "Ain't  she  the  lucky  one!" 

All  the  way  as  we  walked  along  he  was  learn- 
ing me  how  to  throw  off  my  greenhorn  talk,  and 
say  out  the  words  in  the  American. 

He  used  to  stop  me  in  the  middle  of  the  pave- 
ment and  laugh  from  me,  shaking  me:  "No 
t'ink  or  t'ank  or  t'ought,  now.  You're  an  Amer- 
146 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

ican,"  he  would  say  to  me.  And  then  he  would 
fix  my  tongue  and  teeth  together  and  make  me 
say  after  him:  "th-think,  th-thank,  th-thought; 
this,  that,  there."  And  if  I  said  the  words  right, 
he  kissed  me  in  the  hall  when  we  got  home.  And 
if  I  said  them  wrong,  he  kissed  me  anyhow. 

He  moved  next  door  to  us,  so  we  should  n't 
lose  the  sweetness  from  one  little  minute  that 
we  could  be  together.  There  was  only  the  thin 
wall  between  our  kitchen  and  his  room,  and 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  we  would  knock 
in  one  to  the  other  to  begin  the  day  together. 

"See  what  I  got  for  you,  Hertzele,"  he  said 
to  me  one  day,  holding  up  a  grand  printed  card. 

I  gave  a  read.  It  was  the  ticket  invitation  for 
his  graduation  from  college.  I  gave  it  a  touch, 
with  pride  melting  over  in  my  heart. 

"Only  one  week  more,  and  you'll  be  a  doctor 
for  the  world!" 

"And  then,  heart  of  mine,"  he  said,  drawing 
me  over  to  him  and  kissing  me  on  the  lips, 
"when  I  get  my  office  fixed  up,  you  will  many 
me?" 

"Ach,  such  a  happiness,"  I  answered,  "to  be 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

together  all  the  time,  and  wait  on  you  and  cook 
for  you,  and  do  everything  for  you,  like  if  I  was 
your  mother!" 

"Uncle  Rosenberg  is  coming  special  from 
Boston  for  my  graduation." 

"The  one  what  helped  out  your  chance  for 
college?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  and  he's  going  to  start  me  up  the  doc- 
tor's office,  he  says.  Like  his  son  he  looks  on  me, 
because  he  only  got  daughters  in  his  family." 

"Ach,  the  good  heart!  He'll  yet  have  joy  and 
good  luck  from  us!  What  is  he  saying  about 
me?"  I  ask. 

"I  want  him  to  see  you  first,  darling.  You 
can't  help  going  to  his  heart,  when  he'll  only 
give  a  look  on  you." 

"Think  only,  Mammele  —  David  is  gradu- 
ating for  a  doctor  in  a  week!"  I  gave  a  hurry 
in  to  my  mother  that  night.  "And  his  Uncle 
Rosenberg  is  coming  special  from  Boston  and 
says  he'll  start  him  up  in  his  doctor's  office." 

"Oi  weh,  the  uncle  is  going  to  give  a  come, 
you  say?  Look  how  the  house  looks!  And  the 
children  in  rags  and  no  shoes  on  their  feet!" 
148 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

The  whole  week  before  the  uncle  came,  my 
mother  and  I  was  busy  nights  buying  and  fixing 
up,  and  painting  the  chairs,  and  nailing  to- 
gether solid  the  table,  and  hanging  up  calendar 
pictures  to  cover  up  the  broken  plaster  on  the 
wall,  and  fixing  the  springs  from  the  sleeping 
lounge  so  it  did  n't  sink  in,  and  scrubbing  up 
everything,  and  even  washing  the  windows,  like 
before  Passover. 

I  stopped  away  from  the  shop,  on  the  day 
David  was  graduating.  Everything  in  the  house 
was  like  for  a  holiday.  The  children  shined  up 
like  rich  people's  children,  with  their  faces 
washed  clean  and  their  hair  brushed  and  new 
shoes  on  their  feet.  I  made  my  father  put  away 
his  black  shirt  and  dress  up  in  an  American 
white  shirt  and  starched  collar.  I  fixed  out  my 
mother  in  a  new  white  waist  and  a  blue  checked 
apron,  and  I  blowed  myself  to  dress  up  the 
baby  in  everything  new,  like  a  doll  in  a  window. 
Her  round,  laughing  face  lighted  up  the  house, 
so  beautiful  she  was. 

By  the  time  we  got  finished  the  rush  to  fix 
ourselves  out,  the  children's  cheeks  was  red 
149 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

with  excitement  and  our  eyes  was  bulging 
bright,  like  ready  to  start  for  a  picnic. 

When  David  came  in  with  his  uncle,  my 
father  and  mother  and  all  the  children  gave  a 
stand  up. 

But  the  "Boruch  Chabo"  and  the  hot  words 
of  welcome,  what  was  rushing  from  us  to  say, 
froze  up  on  our  lips  by  the  stiff  look  the  uncle 
throwed  on  us. 

David's  uncle  did  n't  look  like  David.  He  had 
a  thick  neck  and  a  red  face  and  the  breathing  of 
a  man  what  eats  plenty.  —  But  his  eyes  looked 
smart  like  David's. 

He  would  n't  take  no  seat  and  did  n't  seem 
to  want  to  let  go  from  the  door. 

David  laughed  and  talked  fast,  and  moved 
around  nervous,  trying  to  cover  up  the  ice. 
But  he  did  n't  get  no  answers  from  nobody. 
And  he  did  n't  look  in  my  eyes,  and  I  was 
feeling  myself  ashamed,  like  I  did  something 
wrong  which  I  did  n't  understand. 

My  father  started  up  to  say  something  to  the 
uncle —  "Our  David  — "  But  I  quick  pulled 
him  by  the  sleeve  to  stop.  And  nobody  after 
150 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

that  could  say  nothing,  nobody  except  David. 

I  could  n't  get  up  the  heart  to  ask  them  to 
give  a  taste  from  the  cake  and  the  wine  what 
we  made  ready  special  for  them  on  the  table. 
,  The  baby  started  crying  for  a  cake,  and  I 
quick  went  over  to  take  her  up,  because  I 
wanted  to  hide  myself  with  being  busy  with  her. 
But  only  the  crying  and  nothing  else  happen- 
ing made  my  heart  give  a  shiver,  like  bad  luck 
was  in  the  air. 

And  right  away  the  uncle  and  him  said  good- 
bye and  walked  out. 

When  the  door  was  shut  the  children  gave 
a  rush  for  the  cakes,  and  then  burst  out  in  the 
street. 

"Come,  Schmuel,"  said  my  mother,  "I  got 
to  say  something  with  you."  And  she  gave  my 
father  a  pull  in  the  other  room  and  closed  the 
door. 

I  felt  they  was  trying  not  to  look  on  me,  and 
was  shrinking  away  from  the  shame  that  was 
throwed  on  me. 

"Och,  what's  the  matter  with  me!  Nothing 
can  come  between  David  and  me.  His  uncle 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

ain't  everything,"  I  said,  trying  to  pull  up  my 
head. 

I  sat  myself  down  by  the  table  to  cool  down 
my  nervousness.  "Brace  yourself  up,"  I  said 
to  myself,  jumping  up  from  the  chair  and  be- 
ginning to  walk  around  again.  "Nothing  has 
happened.  Stop  off  nagging  yourself." 

Just  then  I  hear  loud  voices  through  the 
wall.  I  go  nearer.  Ut,  it's  his  uncle! 

The  plaster  from  the  wall  was  broken  on  our 
side  by  the  door.  "Lay  your  ear  in  this  crack, 
and  you  can  hear  plain  the  words,"  I  say  to  my- 
self. 

"What's  getting  over  you?  You  ain't  that 
kind  to  do  such  a  thing,"  I  say.  But  still  I  do  it. 

Oi  weh,  I  hear  the  uncle  plainly!  "What's 
all  this  mean,  these  neighbors?  Who's  the 
pretty  girl  what  made  such  eyes  on  you  ? " 

"Ain't  she  beautiful?  Do  you  like  her?"  I 
hear  David. 

"What?  What's  that  matter  to  you?" 

"I'll  marry  myself  to  her,"  says  David. 

"Marry!  Marry  yourself  into  that  beggar 
house!  Are  you  crazy?" 
152 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

"A  man  could  get  to  anywhere  with  such  a 
beautiful  girl." 

"Koosh !  Pretty  faces  is  cheap  like  dirt.  What 
has  she  got  to  bring  you  in  for  your  future?  An 
empty  pocketbook?  A  starving  family  to  hang 
over  your  neck?" 

"You  don't  know  nothing  about  her.  You 
don't  know  what  you're  saying.  She  comes 
from  fine  people  in  Russia.  You  can  see  her 
father  is  a  learned  man." 

"  Ach !  You  make  me  a  disgust  with  your  calf 
talk!  Poverty  winking  from  every  corner  of 
the  house!  Hunger  hollering  from  all  their 
starved  faces !  I  got  too  much  sense  to  waste  my 
love  on  beggars.  And  all  the  time  I  was  planning 
for  you  an  American  family,  people  which  are 
somebodies  in  this  world,  which  could  help  you 
work  up  a  practice!  For  why  did  I  waste  my 
good  dollars  on  you?" 

"Gott!  Ain't  David  answering?"  my  heart 
cries  out.  "Why  don't  he  throw  him  out  of  the 
house?" 

"Perhaps  I  can't  hear  him,"  I  think,  and  with 
my  finger-nails  I  pick  thinner  the  broken  plaster. 
153 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

I  push  myself  back  to  get  away  and  not  to  do 
it.  But  it  did  itself  with  my  hands.  "Don't  let 
me  hear  nothing,"  I  pray,  and  yet  I  strain  more 
to  hear. 

The  uncle  was  still  hollering.  And  David 
was  n't  saying  nothing  for  me. 

"Gazlen!  You  want  to  sink  your  life  in  a 
family  of  beggars?" 

"But  I  love  her.  We're  so  happy  together. 
Don't  that  count  for  something?  I  can't  live 
without  her." 

"  Koosh !  Love  her !  Do  you  want  to  plan  your 
future  with  your  heart  or  with  your  head  ?  Take 
for  your  wife  an  ignorant  shopgirl  without  a 
cent!  Can  two  dead  people  start  up  a  dance 
together?" 

"  So  you  mean  not  to  help  me  with  the  office  ? " 

"Yah-yah-yah!  I'll  run  on  all  fours  to  do  it! 
The  impudence  from  such  penniless  nobodies 
wanting  to  pull  in  a  young  man  with  a  future 
for  a  doctor!  Nobody  but  such  a  yok  like  you 
would  be  such  an  easy  mark." 

"Well,  I  got  to  live  my  own  life,  and  I  love 
her." 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

"That's  all  I  got  to  say.  —  Where's  my  hat? 
Throw  yourself  away  on  the  pretty  face,  make 
yourself  to  shame  and  to  laughter  with  a  ragged 
Melamid  for  a  father-in-law,  and  I  wash  my 
hands  from  you  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

A  change  came  over  David  from  that  day. 
For  the  first  time  we  was  no  more  one  person 
together.  We  could  n't  no  more  laugh  and  talk 
like  we  used  to.  When  I  tried  to  look  him  in  the 
eyes,  he  gave  them  a  turn  away  from  me. 

I  used  to  lie  awake  nights  turning  over  in  my 
head  David's  looks,  David's  words,  and  it  made 
me  frightened  like  something  black  rising  over 
me  and  pushing  me  out  from  David's  heart.  I 
could  feel  he  was  blaming  me  for  something  I 
could  n't  understand. 

Once  David  asked  me,  "Don't  you  love  me 
no  more?" 

I  tried  to  tell  him  that  there  wasn't  no  change 
in  my  love,  but  I  could  n't  no  more  talk  out  to 
him  what  was  in  my  mind,  like  I  used. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  worry  you  before  with  my 
worries,"  he  said  to  me  at  last. 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Worry  me,  David!  What  am  I  here  for?" 

"My  uncle  is  acting  like  a  stingy  grouch,"  he 
answered  me,  "and  I  can't  stand  no  more  his 
bossing  me." 

"Why  did  n't  you  speak  yourself  out  to  me 
what  was  on  your  mind,  David?"  I  asked  him. 

"You  don't  know  how  my  plans  is  smashed 
to  pieces,"  he  said,  with  a  worried  look  on  his 
face.  "I  don't  see  how  I'll  ever  be  able  to  open 
my  doctor's  office.  And  how  can  we  get  married 
with  your  people  hanging  on  for  your  wages?" 

"Ah,  David,  don't  you  no  longer  feel  that 
love  can  find  a  way  out?" 

He  looked  on  me,  down  and  up,  and  up  and 
down,  till  I  drawed  myself  back,  frightened. 

But  he  grabbed  me  back  to  him.  "I  love  you. 
I  love  you,  heart  of  mine,"  he  said,  kissing  me 
on  the  neck,  on  my  hair  and  my  eyes.  "And 
nothing  else  matters,  does  it,  does  it?"  and  he 
kissed  me  again  and  again,  as  if  he  wanted  to 
swallow  me  up. 

Next  day  I  go  out  from  the  shop  and  down 
the  steps  to  meet  him,  like  on  every  day. 

I  give  a  look  around. 
156 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

"Gott!  Where  is  he?  He  was  n't  never  late 
before,"  gave  a  knock  my  heart. 

I  waited  out  till  all  the  girls  was  gone,  and 
the  streets  was  getting  empty,  but  David  did  n't 
come  yet. 

"Maybe  an  accident  happened  to  him,  and  I 
standing  round  here  like  a  dummy,"  and  I  gave 
a  quick  hurry  home. 

But  nobody  had  heard  nothing. 

"He's  coming!  He  must  come!"  I  fighted 
back  my  fear.  But  by  evening  he  had  n't  come 
yet. 

I  sent  in  my  brother  next  door  to  see  if  he 
could  find  him. 

"He  moved  to-day,"  comes  in  my  brother  to 
tell  me. 

"My  God!  David  left  me?  It  ain't  possible!" 

I  walk  around  the  house,  waiting  and  listen- 
ing. "Don't  let  nobody  see  your  nervousness. 
Don't  let  yourself  out.  Don't  break  down." 

It  got  late  and  everybody  was  gone  to  bed. 

I  could  n't  take  my  clothes  off.  Any  minute 
he'll  come  up  the  steps  or  knock  on  the  wall. 
Any  minute  a  telegram  will  come. 
157 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

It's  twelve  o'clock.  It's  one.  Two! 

Every  time  I  hear  footsteps  in  the  empty 
street,  I  am  by  the  window — "Maybe  it 's  him." 

It's  beginning  the  day. 

The  sun  is  rising.  Oi  weh,  how  can  the  sun 
rise  and  he  not  here? 

Mein  Gott!  He  ain't  coming! 

I  sit  myself  down  on  the  floor  by  the  window 
with  my  head  on  the  sill. 

Everybody  is  sleeping.  I  can't  sleep.  And  I  'm 
so  tired. 

Next  day  I  go,  like  pushed  on,  to  the  shop, 
glad  to  be  swallowed  up  by  my  work. 

The  noise  of  the  knocking  machines  is  like  a 
sleeping-medicine  to  the  cryings  inside  of  me. 
All  day  I  watched  my  hands  push  the  waists  up 
and  down  the  machine.  I  was  n't  with  my  hands. 
It  was  like  my  breathing  stopped  and  I  was 
sitting  inside  of  myself,  waiting  for  David. 

The  six  o'clock  whistle  blowed.  I  go  out 
from  the  shop. 

I  can't  help  it  —  I  look  for  him. 

"Oi,  Gott!  Do  something  for  me  once!  Send 
him  only!" 

158 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

I  hold  on  to  the  iron  fence  of  the  shop,  be- 
cause I  feel  my  heart  bleeding  away. 

I  can't  go  away.  The  girls  all  come  out  from 
the  shops,  and  the  streets  get  empty  and  still. 
But  at  the  end  of  the  block  once  in  a  while 
somebody  crosses  and  goes  out  from  sight. 

I  watch  them.  I  begin  counting,  "One,  two, 
three—" 

Underneath  my  mind  is  saying,  "Maybe  it's 
him.  Maybe  the  next  one!" 

My  eyes  shut  themselves.  I  feel  the  end  from 
everything. 

"Ah,  David!  David!  Gott!  Mein  Gott! " 

I  fall  on  the  steps  and  clinch  the  stones  with 
the  twistings  of  my  body.  A  terrible  cry  breaks 
out  from  me — '"David!  David!"  My  soul  is 
tearing  itself  out  from  my  body.  It  is  gone. 

Next  day  I  got  news  —  David  opened  a 
doctor's  office  uptown. 

Nothing  could  hurt  me  no  more.  I  did  n't 
hope  for  nothing.  Even  if  he  wanted  me  back,  I 
could  n't  go  to  him  no  more.  I  was  like  some- 
thing dying  what  wants  to  be  left  alone  in  dark- 
ness. 

159 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

But  still  something  inside  of  me  wanted  to 
see  for  itself  how  all  is  dead  between  us,  and  I 
write  him: 

"David  Novak:  You  killed  me.  You  killed 
my  love.  Why  did  you  leave  me  yet  living? 
Why  must  I  yet  drag  on  the  deadness  from 
me?" 

I  don't  know  why  I  wrote  him.  I  just  wanted 
to  give  a  look  on  him.  I  wanted  to  fill  up  my 
eyes  with  him  before  I  turned  them  away  for- 
ever. 

I  was  sitting  by  the  table  in  the  kitchen, 
wanting  to  sew,  but  my  hands  was  lying  dead 
on  the  table,  when  the  door  back  of  me  burst 
open. 

"O  God!  What  have  I  done?  Your  face  is 
like  ashes!  You  look  like  you  are  dying!"  David 
gave  a  rush  in. 

His  hair  was  n't  combed,  his  face  was  n't 
shaved,  his  clothes  was  all  wrinkled.  My  letter 
he  was  holding  crushed  in  his  hand. 

"I  killed  you!  I  left  you!  But  I  did  n't  rest  a 
minute  since  I  went  away!  Heart  of  mine,  for- 
give me!" 

160 


WHERE  LOVERS  DREAM 

He  gave  a  take  my  hand,  and  fell  down  kneel- 
ing by  me. 

"Sarale,  speak  to  me!" 

"False  dog!  Coward!"  cried  my  father, 
breaking  in  on  us.  "Get  up!  Get  out!  Don't 
dare  touch  my  child  again!  May  your  name  and 
memory  be  blotted  out!" 

David  covered  up  his  head  with  his  arm  and 
fell  back  to  the  wall  like  my  father  had  hit  him. 

"You  yet  listen  to  him?"  cried  my  father, 
grabbing  me  by  the  arm  and  shaking  me. 
"Did  n't  I  tell  you  he's  a  Meshumid,  a  denier 
of  God?" 

"Have  pity!  Speak  to  me!  Give  me  only  a 
word ! "  David  begged  me. 

I  wanted  to  speak  to  him,  to  stretch  out  my 
hands  to  him  and  call  him  over,  but  I  could  n't 
move  my  body.  No  voice  came  from  my  lips 
no  more  than  if  I  was  locked  in  my  grave. 

I  was  dead,  and  the  David  I  loved  was  dead. 

I  married  Sam  because  he  came  along  and 
wanted  me,  and  I  did  n't  care  about  nothing 
no  more. 

But  for  long  after,  even  when  the  children 
161 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

began  coming,  my  head  was  still  far  away  in 
the  dream  of  the  time  when  love  was.  Before 
my  eyes  was  always  his  face,  drawing  me  on. 
In  my  ears  was  always  his  voice,  but  thin,  like 
from  far  away. 

I  was  like  a  person  following  after  something 
in  the  dark. 

For  years  when  I  went  out  into  the  street 
or  got  into  a  car,  it  gave  a  knock  my  heart  — 
"Maybe  I'll  see  him  yet  to-day." 

When  I  heard  he  got  himself  engaged,  I 
hunted  up  where  she  lived,  and  with  Sammy  in 
the  carriage  and  the  three  other  children  hang- 
ing on  to  my  skirts,  I  stayed  around  for  hours 
to  look  up  at  the  grand  stone  house  where  she 
lived,  just  to  take  a  minute's  look  on  her. 

When  I  seen  her  go  by,  it  stabbed  awake  in 
me  the  old  days. 

It  ain't  that  I  still  love  him,  but  nothing 
don't  seem  real  to  me  no  more.  For  the  little 
while  when  we  was  lovers  I  breathed  the  air 
from  the  high  places  where  love  comes  from, 
and  I  can't  no  more  come  down. 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

WHAT  I  so  greatly  feared,  happened!  Miss 
Whiteside,  the  dean  of  our  college,  withheld  my 
diploma.  When  I  came  to  her  office,  and  asked 
her  why  she  did  not  pass  me,  she  said  that  she 
could  not  recommend  me  as  a  teacher  because 
of  my  personal  appearance. 

She  told  me  that  my  skin  looked  oily,  my  hair 
unkempt,  and  my  finger-nails  sadly  neglected. 
She  told  me  that  I  was  utterly  unmindful  of  the 
little  niceties  of  the  well-groomed  lady.  She 
pointed  out  that  my  collar  did  not  set  evenly, 
my  belt  was  awry,  and  there  was  a  lack  of  fresh- 
ness in  my  dress.  And  she  ended  with:  "Soap 
and  water  are  cheap.  Any  one  can  be  clean." 

In  those  four  years  while  I  was  under  her 
supervision,  I  was  always  timid  and  diffident.  I 
shrank  and  trembled  when  I  had  to  come  near 
her.  When  I  had  to  say  something  to  her,  I 
mumbled  and  stuttered,  and  grew  red  and  white 
in  the  face  with  fear. 

163 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Every  time  I  had  to  come  to  the  dean's  office 
for  a  private  conference,  I  prepared  for  the  or- 
deal of  her  cold  scrutiny,  as  a  patient  prepares 
for  a  surgical  operation.  I  watched  her  gimlet 
eyes  searching  for  a  stray  pin,  for  a  spot  on  my 
dress,  for  my  unpolished  shoes,  for  my  uncared- 
for  finger-nails,  as  one  strapped  on  the  operating 
table  watches  the  surgeon  approaching  with  his 
tray  of  sterilized  knives. 

She  never  looked  into  my  eyes.  She  never 
perceived  that  I  had  a  soul.  She  did  not  see 
how  I  longed  for  beauty  and  ^cleanliness.  How 
I  strained  and  struggled  to  lift  myself  from 
the  dead  toil  and  exhaustion  that  weighed  me 
down.  She  could  see  nothing  in  people  like  me, 
except  the  dirt  and  the  stains  on  the  outside. 

But  this  last  time  when  she  threatened  to 
withhold  my  diploma,  because  of  my  appear- 
ance, this  last  time  when  she  reminded  me  that 
"Soap  and  water  are  cheap.  Any  one  can  be 
clean,"  this  last  time,  something  burst  within 
me. 

I  felt  the  suppressed  wrath  of  all  the  un- 
washed of  the  earth  break  loose  within  me.  My 
164 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

eyes  blazed  fire.  I  did  n't  care  for  myself,  nor  the 
dean,  nor  the  whole  laundered  world.  I  had  suf- 
fered the  cruelty  of  their  cleanliness  and  the 
tyranny  of  their  culture  to  the  breaking  point.  I 
was  too  frenzied  to  know  what  I  said  or  did. 
But  I  saw  clean,  immaculate,  spotless  Miss 
Whiteside  shrivel  and  tremble  and  cower  be- 
fore me,  as  I  had  shriveled  and  trembled  and 
cowered  before  her  for  so  many  years. 

Why  did  she  give  me  my  diploma?  Was  it 
pity?  Or  can  it  be  that  in  my  outburst  of  fury, 
at  the  climax  of  indignities  that  I  had  suffered, 
the  barriers  broke,  and  she  saw  into  the  world 
below  from  where  I  came  ? 

Miss  Whiteside  had  no  particular  reason  for 
hounding  and  persecuting  me.  Personally,  she 
did  n't  give  a  hang  if  I  was  clean  or  dirty.  She 
was  merely  one  of  the  agents  of  clean  society,  . 
delegated  to  judge  who  is  fit  and  who  is  unfit  to 
teach. 

While  they  condemned  me  as  unfit  to  be  a 

teacher,  because  of  my  appearance,  I  was  slaving 

to  keep  them  clean.  I  was  slaving  in  a  laundry 

from  five  to  eight  in  the  morning,  before  going 

165 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

to  college,  and  from  six  to  eleven  at  night, 
after  coming  from  college.  Eight  hours  of  work  a 
day,  outside  my  studies.  Where  was  the  time 
and  the  strength  for  the  "little  niceties  of  the 
well-groomed  lady"? 

At  the  time  when  they  rose  and  took  their 
morning  bath,  and  put  on  their  fresh-laundered 
linen  that  somebody  had  made  ready  for  them, 
when  they  were  being  served  with  their  break- 
fast, I  had  already  toiled  for  three  hours  in  a 
laundry. 

When  college  hours  were  over,  they  went  for 
a  walk  in  the  fresh  air.  They  had  time  to  rest, 
and  bathe  again,  and  put  on  fresh  clothes  for 
dinner.  But  I,  after  college  hours,  had  only  time 
to  bolt  a  soggy  meal,  and  rush  back  to  the  grind 
of  the  laundry  till  eleven  at  night. 

At  the  hour  when  they  came  from  the  theater 
or  musicale,  I  came  from  the  laundry.  But  I  was 
so  bathed  in  the  sweat  of  exhaustion  that  I  could 
not  think  of  a  bath  of  soap  and  water.  I  had  only 
strength  to  drag  myself  home,  and  fall  down  on 
the  bed  and  sleep.  Even  if  I  had  had  the  desire 
and  the  energy  to  take  a  bath,  there  were  no 
166 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

such  things  as  bathtubs  in  the  house  where  I 
lived. 

Often  as  I  stood  at  my  board  at  the  laundry,  I 
thought  of  Miss  Whiteside,  and  her  clean  world, 
clothed  in  the  snowy  shirt-waists  I  had  ironed. 
I  was  thinking  —  I,  soaking  in  the  foul  vapors 
of  the  steaming  laundry,  I,  with  my  dirty,  tired 
hands,  I  am  ironing  the  clean,  immaculate  shirt- 
waists of  clean,  immaculate  society.  I,  the  un- 
clean one,  am  actually  fashioning  the  pedestal  of 
their  cleanliness,  from  which  they  reach  down, 
hoping  to  lift  me  to  the  height  that  I  have  cre- 
ated for  them. 

I  look  back  at  my  sweatshop  childhood.  One 
day,  when  I  was  about  sixteen,  some  one  gave 
me  Rosenf eld's  poem,  "The  Machine,"  to  read. 
Like  a  spark  thrown  among  oily  rags,  it  set  my 
whole  being  aflame  with  longing  for  self-expres- 
sion. But  I  was  dumb.  I  had  nothing  but  blind, 
aching  feeling.  For  days  I  went  about  with 
agonies  of  feeling,  yet  utterly  at  sea  how  to 
fathom  and  voice  those  feelings  —  birth-throes 
of  infinite  worlds,  and  yet  dumb. 

Suddenly,  there  came  upon  me  this  inspira- 
167 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

tion.  I  can  go  to  college!  There  I  shall  learn  to 
express  myself,  to  voice  my  thoughts.  But  I  was 
not  prepared  to  go  to  college.  The  girl  in  the 
cigar  factory,  in  the  next  block,  had  gone  first 
to  a  preparatory  school.  Why  should  n't  I  find 
a  way,  too? 

Going  to  college  seemed  as  impossible  for  me, 
at  that  time,  as  for  an  ignorant  Russian  shop- 
girl to  attempt  to  write  poetry  in  English.  But 
I  was  sixteen  then,  and  the  impossible  was  a 
magnet  to  draw  the  dreams  that  had  no  outlet. 
Besides,  the  actual  was  so  barren,  so  narrow,  so 
strangling,  that  the  dream  of  the  unattainable 
was  the  only  air  in  which  the  soul  could  survive. 

The  ideal  of  going  to  college  was  like  the 
birth  of  a  new  religion  in  my  soul.  It  put  nevr 
fire  in  my  eyes,  and  new  strength  in  my  tired 
arms  and  fingers. 

For  six  years  I  worked  daytimes  and  went 
at  night  to  a  preparatory  school.  For  six  years 
I  went  about  nursing  the  illusion  that  college 
was  a  place  where  I  should  find  self-expres- 
sion, and  vague,  pent-up  feelings  could  live  as 
thoughts  and  grow  as  ideas. 
168 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

At  last  I  came  to  college.  I  rushed  for  it  with 
the  outstretched  arms  of  youth's  aching  hunger 
to  give  and  take  of  life's  deepest  and  highest, 
and  I  came  against  the  solid  wall  of  the  well-fed, 
well-dressed  world  —  the  frigid  whitewashed 
wall  of  cleanliness. 

Until  I  came  to  college  I  had  been  uncon- 
scious of  my  clothes.  Suddenly  I  felt  people 
looking  at  me  at  arm's  length,  as  if  I  were 
crooked  or  crippled,  as  if  I  had  come  to  a  place 
where  I  did  n't  belong,  and  would  never  be 
taken  in. 

How  I  pinched,  and  scraped,  and  starved  my- 
self, to  save  enough  to  come  to  college!  Every 
cent  of  the  tuition  fee  I  paid  was  drops  of  sweat 
and  blood  from  underpaid  laundry  work.  And 
what  did  I  get  for  it?  A  crushed  spirit,  a  broken 
heart,  a  stinging  sense  of  poverty  that  I  never 
felt  before. 

The  courses  of  study  I  had  to  swallow  to  get 
my  diploma  were  utterly  barren  of  interest  to 
me.  I  did  n't  come  to  college  to  get  dull  learning 
from  dead  books.  I  did  n't  come  for  that  dry, 
inanimate  stuff  that  can  be  hammered  out  in 
169 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

lectures.  I  came  because  I  longed  for  the  larger 
life,  for  the  stimulus  of  intellectual  associa- 
tions. I  came  because  my  whole  being  clamored 
for  more  vision,  more  light.  But  everywhere 
I  went  I  saw  big  fences  put  up  against  me,  with 
the  brutal  signs:  "No  trespassing.  Get  off  the 
grass." 

I  experienced  at  college  the  same  feeling  of 
years  ago  when  I  came  to  this  country,  when 
after  months  of  shut-in-ness,  in  dark  tenements 
and  stifling  sweatshops,  I  had  come  to  Central 
Park  for  the  first  time.  Like  a  bird  just  out  from 
a  cage,  I  stretched  out  my  arms,  and  then  flung 
myself  in  ecstatic  abandon  on  the  grass.  Just 
as  I  began  to  breathe  in  the  fresh-smelling 
earth,  and  lift  up  my  eyes  to  the  sky,  a  big,  fat 
policeman  with  a  club  in  his  hand,  seized  me, 
with:  "Can't  you  read  the  sign?  Get  off  the 
grass!"  Miss  Whiteside,  the  dean  of  the  college, 
the  representative  of  the  clean,  the  educated 
world,  for  all  her  external  refinement,  was  to  me 
like  that  big,  brutal  policeman,  with  the  club 
in  his  hand,  that  drove  me  off  the  grass. 

The  death-blows  to  all  aspiration  began  when 
170 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

I  graduated  from  college  and  tried  to  get  a 
start  at  the  work  for  which  I  had  struggled  so 
hard  to  fit  myself.  I  soon  found  other  agents 
of  clean  society,  who  had  the  power  of  giving  or 
withholding  the  positions  I  sought,  judging  me 
as  Miss  Whiteside  judged  me.  One  glance  at 
my  shabby  clothes,  the  desperate  anguish  that 
glazed  and  dulled  my  eyes  and  I  felt  myself 
condemned  by  them  before  I  opened  my  lips 
to  speak. 

Starvation  forced  me  to  accept  the  lowest- 
paid  substitute  position.  And  because  my  wages 
were  so  low  and  so  unsteady,  I  could  never  get 
the  money  for  the  clothes  to  make  an  appear- 
ance to  secure  a  position  with  better  pay.  I  was 
tricked  and  foiled.  I  was  considered  unfit  to  get 
decent  pay  for  my  work  because  of  my  appear- 
ance, and  it  was  to  the  advantage  of  those  who 
used  me  that  my  appearance  should  damn  me, 
so  as  to  get  me  to  work  for  the  low  wages  I  was 
forced  to  accept.  It  seemed  to  me  the  whole 
vicious  circle  of  society's  injustices  was  thrust 
like  a  noose  around  my  neck  to  strangle  me. 

The  insults  and  injuries  I  had  suffered  at 
171 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

college  had  so  eaten  into  my  flesh  that  I  could 
not  bear  to  get  near  it.  I  shuddered  with  horror 
whenever  I  had  to  pass  the  place  blocks  away. 
The  hate  which  I  felt  for  Miss  Whiteside  spread 
like  poison  inside  my  soul,  into  hate  for  all 
clean  society.  The  whole  clean  world  was 
massed  against  me.  Whenever  I  met  a  well- 
dressed  person,  I  felt  the  secret  stab  of  a  hidden 
enemy. 

I  was  so  obsessed  and  consumed  with  my 
grievances  that  I  could  not  get  away  from  my- 
self and  think  things  out  in  the  light.  I  was  in 
the  grip  of  that  blinding,  destructive,  terrible 
thing —  righteous  indignation.  I  could  not  rest. 
I  wanted  the  whole  world  to  know  that  the  col- 
lege was  against  democracy  in  education,  that 
clothes  form  the  basis  of  class  distinctions,  that 
after  graduation  the  opportunities  for  the  best 
positions  are  passed  out  to  those  who  are  best- 
dressed,  and  the  students  too  poor  to  put  up  a 
front  are  pigeon-holed  and  marked  unfit  and 
abandoned  to  the  mercy  of  the  wind. 

A  wild  desire  raged  in  the  corner  of  my  brain. 
I  knew  that  the  dean  gave  dinners  to  the  faculty 
172 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

at  regular  intervals.  I  longed  to  burst  in  at 
one  of  those  feasts,  in  the  midst  of  their  grand 
speech-making,  and  tear  down  the  fine  clothes 
from  these  well-groomed  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
and  trample  them  under  my  feet,  and  scream 
like  a  lunatic:  "Soap  and  water  are  cheap!  Soap 
'and  water  are  cheap !  Look  at  me !  See  how  cheap 
it  is!" 

There  seemed  but  three  avenues  of  escape  to 
the  torments  of  my  wasted  life,  madness,  sui- 
cide, or  a  heart-to-heart  confession  to  some  one 
who  understood.  I  had  not  energy  enough  for 
suicide.  Besides,  in  my  darkest  moments  of 
despair,  hope  clamored  loudest.  Oh,  I  longed  so 
to  live,  to  dream  my  way  up  on  the  heights, 
above  the  unreal  realities  that  ground  me  and 
dragged  me  down  to  earth. 

Inside  the  ruin  of  my  thwarted  life,  the  un- 
lived  visionary  immigrant  hungered  and  thirsted 
for  America.  I  had  come  a  refugee  from  the 
Russian  pogroms,  aflame  with  dreams  of 
America.  I  did  not  find  America  in  the  sweat 
shops,  much  less  in  the  schools  and  colleges 
But  for  hundreds  of  years  the  persecuted  races 


; 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

all  over  the  world  were  nurtured  on  hopes  of 
America.  When  a  little  baby  in  my  mother's 
arms,  before  I  was  old  enough  to  speak,  I  saw 
all  around  me  weary  faces  light  up  with  thrilling 
tales  of  the  far-off  "golden  country."  And  so, 
though  my  faith  in  this  so-called  America  was 
shattered,  yet  underneath,  in  the  sap  and  roots 
of  my  soul,  burned  the  deathless  faith  that 
America  is,  must  be,  somehow,  somewhere.  In 
the  midst  of  my  bitterest  hates  and  rebellions, 
visions  of  America  rose  over  me,  like  songs  of 
freedom  of  an  oppressed  people. 

My  body  was  worn  to  the  bone  from  over- 
work, my  footsteps  dragged  with  exhaustion, 
but  my  eyes  still  sought  the  sky,  praying,  cease- 
lessly praying,  the  dumb,  inarticulate  prayer  of 
the  lost  immigrant:  "America!  Ach,  America! 
Where  is  America  ? " 

It  seemed  to  me  if  I  could  only  find  some  hu- 
man being  to  whom  I  could  unburden  my  heart, 
I  would  have  new  strength  to  begin  again  my 
insatiable  search  for  America. 

But  to  whom  could  I  speak?  The  people  in 
the  laundry?  They  never  understood  me.  They 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

had  a  grudge  against  me  because  I  left  them 
when  I  tried  to  work  myself  up.  Could  I  speak 
to  the  college  people?  What  did  these  icebergs 
of  convention  know  about  the  vital  things  of 
the  heart? 

And  yet,  I  remembered,  in  the  freshman  year, 
in  one  of  the  courses  in  chemistry,  there  was  an 
instructor,  a  woman,  who  drew  me  strangely.  I 
felt  she  was  the  only  real  teacher  among  all  the 
teachers  and  professors  I  met.  I  did  n't  care  for 
the  chemistry,  but  I  liked  to  look  at  her.  She 
gave  me  life,  air,  the  unconscious  emanation 
of  her  beautiful  spirit.  I  had  not  spoken  a  word 
to  her,  outside  the  experiments  in  chemistry, 
but  I  knew  her  more  than  the  people  around 
her  who  were  of  her  own  class.  I  felt  in  the  throb 
of  her  voice,  in  the  subtle  shading  around  the 
corner  of  her  eyes,  the  color  and  texture  of  her 
dreams. 

Often  in  the  midst  of  our  work  in  chemistry 
I  felt  like  crying  out  to  her:  "Oh,  please  be  my 
friend.  I'm  so  lonely."  But  something  choked 
me.  I  could  n't  speak.  The  very  intensity  of  my 
longing  for  her  friendship  made  me  run  away 
175 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

from  her  in  confusion  the  minute  she  ap- 
proached me.  I  was  so  conscious  of  my  shab- 
biness  that  I  was  afraid  maybe  she  was  only 
trying  to  be  kind.  I  could  n't  bear  kindness. 
I  wanted  from  her  love,  understanding,  or 
nothing. 

About  ten  years  after  I  left  college,  as  I 
walked  the  streets  bowed  and  beaten  with  the 
shame  of  having  to  go  around  begging  for  work, 
I  met  Miss  Van  Ness.  She  not  only  recognized 
me,  but  stopped  to  ask  how  I  was,  and  what  I 
was  doing. 

I  had  begun  to  think  that  my  only  comrades 
in  this  world  were  the  homeless  and  abandoned 
cats  and  dogs  of  the  street,  whom  everybody 
gives  another  kick,  as  they  slam  the  door  on 
them.  And  here  was  one  from  the  clean  world 
human  enough  to  be  friendly.  Here  was  one  of 
the  well-dressed,  with  a  look  in  her  eyes  and  a 
sound  in  her  voice  that  was  like  healing  oil  over 
the  bruises  of  my  soul.  The  mere  touch  of  that 
woman's  hand  in  mine  so  overwhelmed  me, 
that  I  burst  out  crying  in  the  street. 

The  next  morning  I  came  to  Miss  Van  Ness 
176 


SOAP  AND  WATER 

at  her  office.  In  those  ten  years  she  had  risen  to 
a  professorship.  But  I  was  not  in  the  least  in- 
timidated by  her  high  office.  I  felt  as  natural  in 
her  presence  as  if  she  were  my  own  sister.  I 
heard  myself  telling  her  the  whole  story  of  my 
life,  but  I  felt  that  even  if  I  had  not  said  a  word 
she  would  have  understood  all  I  had  to  say  as 
if  I  had  spoken.  It  was  all  so  unutterable,  to 
find  one  from  the  other  side  of  the  world  who 
was  so  simply  and  naturally  that  miraculous 
thing  —  a  friend.  Just  as  contact  with  Miss 
Whiteside  had  tied  and  bound  all  my  thinking 
processes,  so  Miss  Van  Ness  unbound  and  freed 
me  and  suffused  me  with  light. 

I  felt  the  joy  of  one  breathing  on  the  moun- 
tain-tops for  the  first  time.  I  looked  down  at  the 
world  below.  I  was  changed  and  the  world  was 
changed.  My  past  was  the  forgotten  night. 
Sunrise  was  all  around  me. 

I  went  out  from  Miss  Van  Ness's  office,  sing- 
ing a  song  of  new  life:  "America!  I  found 
America." 


"THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND" 

IN  an  air-shaft  so  narrow  that  you  could  touch 
the  next  wall  with  your  bare  hands,  Hanneh 
Breineh  leaned  out  and  knocked  on  her  neigh- 
bor's window. 

"Can  you  loan  me  your  wash-boiler  for  the 
clothes?"  she  called. 

Mrs.  Pelz  threw  up  the  sash. 

"The  boiler?  What's  the  matter  with  yours 
again  ?  Did  n't  you  tell  me  you  had  it  fixed  al- 
ready last  week?" 

"A  black  year  on  him,  the  robber,  the  way 
he  fixed  it!  If  you  have  no  luck  in  this  world, 
then  it's  better  not  to  live.  There  I  spent  out 
fifteen  cents  to  stop  up  one  hole,  and  it  runs  out 
another.  How  I  ate  out  my  gall  bargaining 
with  him  he  should  let  it  down  to  fifteen  cents! 
He  wanted  yet  a  quarter,  the  swindler.  Got- 
tuniu!  My  bitter  heart  on  him  for  every  penny 
he  took  from  me  for  nothing!" 

"You  got  to  watch  all  those  swindlers,  or 
178 


1  THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

they'll  steal  the  whites  out  of  your  eyes,"  ad- 
monished Mrs.  Pelz.  "You  should  have  tried 
out  your  boiler  before  you  paid  him.  Wait  a 
minute  till  I  empty  out  my  dirty  clothes  in  a 
pillow-case;  then  I'll  hand  it  to  you." 

Mrs.  Pelz  returned  with  the  boiler  and  tried 
to  hand  it  across  to  Hanneh  Breineh,  but  the 
soap-box  refrigerator  on  the  window-sill  was 
in  the  way. 

"You  got  to  come  in  for  the  boiler  yourself," 
said  Mrs.  Pelz. 

"Wait  only  till  I  tie  my  Sammy  on  to  the 
high-chair  he  should  n't  fall  on  me  again.  He's 
so  wild  that  ropes  won't  hold  him." 

Hanneh  Breineh  tied  the  child  in  the  chair, 
stuck  a  pacifier  in  his  mouth,  and  went  in  to  her 
neighbor.  As  she  took  the  boiler  Mrs.  Pelz  said: 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Melker  ordered  fifty 
pounds  of  chicken  for  her  daughter's  wedding? 
And  such  grand  chickens !  Shining  like  gold !  My 
heart  melted  in  me  just  looking  at  the  flowing 
fatness  of  those  chickens." 

Hanneh  Breineh  smacked  her  thin,  dry  lips, 
a  hungry  gleam  in  her  sunken  eyes. 
179 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Fifty  pounds!"  she  gasped.  "It  ain't  possi- 
ble. How  do  you  know?" 

"I  heard  her  with  my  own  ears.  I  saw  them 
with  my  own  eyes.  And  she  said  she  will  chop 
up  the  chicken  livers  with  onions  and  eggs  for 
an  appetizer,  and  then  she  will  buy  twenty-five 
pounds  of  fish,  and  cook  it  sweet  and  sour  with 
raisins,  and  she  said  she  will  bake  all  her  shtru- 
dels  on  pure  chicken  fat." 

"Some  people  work  themselves  up  in  the 
world,"  sighed  Hanneh  Breineh.  "For  them  is 
America  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  In  Savel 
Mrs.  Melker  used  to  get  shriveled  up  from  hun- 
ger. She  and  her  children  used  to  live  on  potato- 
peelings  and  crusts  of  dry  bread  picked  out 
from  the  barrels;  and  in  America  she  lives  to 
eat  chicken,  and  apple  shtrudels  soaking  in 
fat." 

"The  world  is  a  wheel  always  turning," 
philosophized  Mrs.  Pelz.  "Those  who  were  high 
go  down  low,  and  those  who've  been  low  go  up 
higher.  Who  will  believe  me  here  in  America 
that  in  Poland  I  was  a  cook  in  a  banker's  house? 
I  handled  ducks  and  geese  every  day.  I  used  to 
180 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

bake  coffee-cake  with  cream  so  thick  you  could 
cut  it  with  a  knife." 

"And  do  you  think  I  was  a  nobody  in  Po- 
land?" broke  in  Hanneh  Breineh,  tears  welling 
in  her  eyes  as  the  memories  of  her  past  rushed 
over  her.  "But  what's  the  use  of  talking?  In 
America  money  is  everything.  Who  cares  who 
my  father  or  grandfather  was  in  Poland?  With- 
out money  I'm  a  living  dead  one.  My  head 
dries  out  worrying  how  to  get  for  the  children 
the  eating  a  penny  cheaper." 

Mrs.  Pelz  wagged  her  head,  a  gnawing  envy 
contracting  her  features. 

"Mrs.  Melker  had  it  good  from  the  day  she 
came,"  she  said,  begrudgingly.  "Right  away 
she  sent  all  her  children  to  the  factory,  and  she 
began  to  cook  meat  for  dinner  every  day.  She 
and  her  children  have  eggs  and  buttered  rolls 
for  breakfast  each  morning  like  millionaires." 

A  sudden  fall  and  a  baby's  scream,  and  the 
boiler  dropped  from  Hanneh  Breineh's  hands  as 
she  rushed  into  her  kitchen,  Mrs.  Pelz  after  her. 
They  found  the  high-chair  turned  on  top  of  the 
baby. 

181 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Gewalt!  Save  me!  Run  for  a  doctor!"  cried 
Hanneh  Breineh,  as  she  dragged  the  child  from 
under  the  high-chair.  "He's  killed!  He's  killed! 
My  only  child!  My  precious  lamb!"  she 
shrieked  as  she  ran  back  and  forth  with  the 
screaming  infant. 

Mrs.  Pelz  snatched  little  Sammy  from  the 
mother's  hands. 

"Meshugneh!  What  are  you  running  around 
like  a  crazy,  frightening  the  child?  Let  me  see. 
Let  me  tend  to  him.  He  ain't  killed  yet."  She 
hastened  to  the  sink  to  wash  the  child's  face, 
and  discovered  a  swelling  lump  on  his  forehead. 
"Have  you  a  quarter  in  your  house  ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  got  one,"  replied  Hanneh  Breineh, 
climbing  on  a  chair.  "I  got  to  keep  it  on  a  high 
shelf  where  the  children  can't  get  it." 

Mrs.  Pelz  seized  the  quarter  Hanneh  Breineh 
handed  down  to  her. 

"Now  pull  your  left  eyelid  three  times  while 
I'm  pressing  the  quarter,  and  you'll  see  the 
swelling  go  down." 

Hanneh  Breineh  took  the  child  again  in  her 
arms,  shaking  and  cooing  over  it  and  caressing  it. 
182 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

"Ah-ah-ah,  Sammy!  Ah-ah-ah-ah,  little 
lamb !  Ah-ah-ah,  little  bird !  Ah-ah-ah-ah,  pre- 
cious heart!  Oh,  you  saved  my  life;  I  thought 
he  was  killed,"  gasped  Hanneh  Breineh,  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Pelz.  "Oi-i!"  she  sighed,  "a  moth- 
er's heart!  Always  in  fear  over  her  children.  The 
minute  anything  happens  to  them  all  life  goes 
out  of  me.  I  lose  my  head  and  I  don't  know 
where  I  am  any  more." 

"No  wonder  the  child  fell,"  admonished  Mrs. 
Pelz.  "You  should  have  a  red  ribbon  or  red 
beads  on  his  neck  to  keep  away  the  evil  eye. 
Wait.  I  got  something  in  my  machine-drawer." 

Mrs.  Pelz  returned,  bringing  the  boiler  and  a 
red  string,  which  she  tied  about  the  child's  neck 
while  the  mother  proceeded  to  fill  the  boiler. 

A  little  later  Hanneh  Breineh  again  came 
into  Mrs.  Pelz's  kitchen,  holding  Sammy  in  one 
arm  and  in  the  other  an  apronful  of  potatoes. 
Putting  the  child  down  on  the  floor,  she  seated 
herself  on  the  unmade  kitchen-bed  and  began 
to  peel  the  potatoes  in  her  apron. 

"Woe  to  me!"  sobbed  Hanneh  Breineh.  "To 
my  bitter  luck  there  ain't  no  end.  With  all  my 
183 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

other  troubles,  the  stove  got  broke.  I  lighted  the 
fire  to  boil  the  clothes,  and  it's  to  get  choked 
with  smoke.  I  paid  rent  only  a  week  ago,  and 
the  agent  don't  want  to  fix  it.  A  thunder  should 
strike  him!  He  only  comes  for  the  rent,  and  if 
anything  has  to  be  fixed,  then  he  don't  want  to 
hear  nothing. 

"Why  comes  it  to  me  so  hard?'*  went  on 
Hanneh  Breineh,  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks.  "I  can't  stand  it  no  more.  I  came  into 
you  for  a  minute  to  run  away  from  my  troubles. 
It's  only  when  I  sit  myself  down  to  peel  pota- 
toes or  nurse  the  baby  that  I  take  time  to  draw 
a  breath,  and  beg  only  for  death." 

Mrs.  Pelz,  accustomed  to  Hanneh  Breineh's 
bitter  outbursts,  continued  her  scrubbing. 

"Ut!"  exclaimed  Hanneh  Breineh,  irritated 
at  her  neighbor's  silence,  "what  are  you  tearing 
up  the  world  with  your  cleaning?  What's  the 
use  to  clean  up  when  everything  only  gets  dirty 
again?" 

"I  got  to  shine  up  my  house  for  the  holi- 
days." 

"You've  got  it  so  good  nothing  lays  on  your 
184 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

mind  but  to  clean  your  house.  Look  on  this  lit- 
tle blood-sucker,"  said  Hanneh  Breineh,  point- 
ing to  the  wizened  child,  made  prematurely 
solemn  from  starvation  and  neglect.  "Could 
anybody  keep  that  brat  clean?  I  wash  him  one 
minute,  and  he  is  dirty  the  minute  after."  Little 
Sammy  grew  frightened  and  began  to  cry. 
"Shut  up!"  ordered  the  mother,  picking  up  the 
child  to  nurse  it  again.  "Can't  you  see  me  take 
a  rest  for  a  minute?" 

The  hungry  child  began  to  cry  at  the  top  of 
its  weakened  lungs. 

"Na,  na,  you  glutton."  Hanneh  Breineh  took 
out  a  dirty  pacifier  from  her  pocket  and  stuffed 
it  into  the  baby's  mouth.  The  grave,  pasty- 
faced  infant  shrank  into  a  panic  of  fear,  and 
chewed  the  nipple  nervously,  clinging  to  it  with 
both  his  thin  little  hands. 

"For  what  did  I  need  yet  the  sixth  one?" 
groaned  Hanneh  Breineh,  turning  to  Mrs.  Pelz. 
"Was  n't  it  enough  five  mouths  to  feed?  If  I 
did  n't  have  this  child  on  my  neck,  I  could  turn 
myself  around  and  earn  a  few  cents."  She 
wrung  her  hands  in  a  passion  of  despair.  "Got- 
185 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

tuniu!  The  earth  should  only  take  it  before  it 
grows  up ! " 

"Shah!  Shah!"  reproved  Mrs.  Pelz.  "Pity 
yourself  on  the  child.  Let  it  grow  up  already  so 
long  as  it  is  here.  See  how  frightened  it  looks  on 
you."  Mrs.  Pelz  took  the  child  in  her  arms  and 
petted  it.  "The  poor  little  lamb!  What  did  it 
done  you  should  hate  it  so?" 

Hanneh  Breineh  pushed  Mrs.  Pelz  away 
from  her. 

"To  whom  can  I  open  the  wounds  of  my 
heart?"  she  moaned.  "Nobody  has  pity  on  me. 
You  don't  believe  me,  nobody  believes  me  until 
I  '11  fall  down  like  a  horse  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  Oi  weh!  Mine  life  is  so  black  for  my 
eyes!  Some  mothers  got  luck.  A  child  gets  run 
over  by  a  car,  some  fall  from  a  window,  some 
burn  themselves  up  with  a  match,  some  get 
choked  with  diphtheria;  but  no  death  takes 
mine  away." 

"God  from  the  world,  stop  cursing!"  ad- 
monished Mrs.  Pelz.  "What  do  you  want  from 
the  poor  children?  Is  it  their  fault  that  their 
father  makes  small  wages  ?  Why  do  you  let  it  all 
1 86 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

out  on  them?"  Mrs.  Pelz  sat  down  beside  Han- 
neh  Breineh.  "Wait  only  till  your  children  get 
old  enough  to  go  to  the  shop  and  earn  money," 
she  consoled.  "Push  only  through  those  fewyears 
while  they  are  yet  small;  your  sun  will  begin  to 
shine;  you  will  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  when 
they  begin  to  bring  you  in  the  wages  each  week." 

Hanneh  Breineh  refused  to  be  comforted. 

"Till  they  are  old  enough  to  go  to  the  shop 
and  earn  money  they'll  eat  the  head  off  my 
bones,"  she  wailed.  "  If  you  only  knew  the  fights 
I  got  by  each  meal.  Maybe  I  gave  Abe  a  bigger 
piece  of  bread  than  Fanny.  Maybe  Fanny  got  a 
little  more  soup  in  her  plate  than  Jake.  Eating 
is  dearer  than  diamonds.  Potatoes  went  up  a 
cent  on  a  pound,  and  milk  is  only  for  million- 
aires. And  once  a  week,  when  I  buy  a  little 
meat  for  the  Sabbath,  the  butcher  weighs  it  for 
me  like  gold,  with  all  the  bones  in  it.  When  I 
come  to  lay  the  meat  out  on  a  plate  and  divide 
it  up,  there  ain't  nothing  to  it  but  bones.  Be- 
fore, he  used  to  throw  me  in  a  piece  of  fat  extra 
or  a  piece  of  lung,  but  now  you  got  to  pay  for 
everything,  even  for  a  bone  to  the  soup." 
187 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

" Never  mind;  you'll  yet  come  out  from  all 
your  troubles.  Just  as  soon  as  your  children  get 
old  enough  to  get  their  working  papers  the 
more  children  you  got,  the  more  money  you  '11 
have." 

"Why  should  I  fool  myself  with  the  false 
shine  of  hope?  Don't  I  know  it's  already  my 
black  luck  not  to  have  it  good  in  this  world  ?  Do 
you  think  American  children  will  right  away 
give  everything  they  earn  to  their  mother?" 

"  I  know  what  is  with  you  the  matter,"  said 
Mrs.  Pelz.  "You  did  n't  eat  yet  to-day.  When 
it  is  empty  in  the  stomach,  the  whole  world 
looks  black.  Come,  only  let  me  give  you  some- 
thing good  to  taste  in  the  mouth;  that  will 
freshen  you  up."  Mrs.  Pelz  went  to  the  cup- 
board and  brought  out  the  saucepan  of  gefiilte 
fish  that  she  had  cooked  for  dinner  and  placed  it 
on  the  table  in  front  of  Hanneh  Breineh.  "Give 
a  taste  my  fish,"  she  said,  taking  one  slice  on  a 
spoon,  and  handing  it  to  Hanneh  Breineh  with 
a  piece  of  bread.  "I  would  n't  give  it  to  you  on 
a  plate  because  I  just  cleaned  up  my  house,  and 
I  don't  want  to  dirty  up  more  dishes." 
1 88 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

.  "What,  am  I  a  stranger  you  should  have  to 
serve  me  on  a  plate  yet ! "  cried  Hanneh  Breineh, 
snatching  the  fish  in  her  trembling  fingers. 

"Oi  weh!  How  it  melts  through  all  the 
bones!"  she  exclaimed,  brightening  as  she  ate. 
"May  it  be  for  good  luck  to  us  all ! "  she  exulted, 
waving  aloft  the  last  precious  bite. 

Mrs.  Pelz  was  so  flattered  that  she  even  la- 
dled up  a  spoonful  of  gravy. 

"There  is  a  bit  of  onion  and  carrot  in  it,"  she 
said,  as  she  handed  it  to  her  neighbor. 

Hanneh  Breineh  sipped  the  gravy  drop  by 
drop,  like  a  connoisseur  sipping  wine. 

"Ah-h-h!  A  taste  of  that  gravy  lifts  me  up  to 
heaven!"  As  she  disposed  leisurely  of  the  slice 
of  onion  and  carrot  she  relaxed  and  expanded 
and  even  grew  jovial.  "Let  us  wish  all  our 
troubles  on  the  Russian  Czar!  Let  him  burst 
with  our  worries  for  rent !  Let  him  get  shriveled 
with  our  hunger  for  bread!  Let  his  eyes  dry 
out  of  his  head  looking  for  work! 

"Shah!  I'm  forgetting  from  everything," 
she  exclaimed,  jumping  up.  "It  must  be  eleven 
or  soon  twelve,  and  my  children  will  be  right 
189 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

away  out  of  school  and  fall  on  me  like  a  pack  of 
wild  wolves.  I  better  quick  run  to  the  market 
and  see  what  cheaper  I  can  get  for  a  quarter." 

Because  of  the  lateness  of  her  coming,  the 
stale  bread  at  the  nearest  bakeshop  was  sold 
out,  and  Hanneh  Breineh  had  to  trudge  from 
shop  to  shop  in  search  of  the  usual  bargain,  and 
spent  nearly  an  hour  to  save  two  cents. 

In  the  meantime  the  children  returned  from 
school,  and,  finding  the  door  locked,  climbed 
through  the  fire-escape,  and  entered  the  house 
through  the  window.  Seeing  nothing  on  the 
table,  they  rushed  to  the  stove.  Abe  pulled  a 
steaming  potato  out  of  the  boiling  pot,  and  so 
scalded  his  fingers  that  the  potato  fell  to  the 
floor;  where  upon  the  three  others  pounced  on  it. 

"It  was  my  potato,"  cried  Abe,  blowing  his 
burned  fingers,  while  with  the  other  hand  and 
his  foot  he  cuffed  and  kicked  the  three  who  were 
struggling  on  the  floor.  A  wild  fight  ensued,  and 
the  potato  was  smashed  under  Abe's  foot  amid 
shouts  and  screams.  Hanneh  Breineh,  on  the 
stairs,  heard  the  noise  of  her  famished  brood,  and 
topped  their  cries  with  curses  and  invectives. 
190 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

"They  are  here  already,  the  savages!  They 
are  here  already  to  shorten  my  life!  They  heard 
you  all  over  the  hall,  in  all  the  houses  around!" 

The  children,  disregarding  her  words, 
pounced  on  her  market-basket,  shouting  rav- 
enously: "Mamma,  I'm  hungry!  What  more 
do  you  got  to  eat?" 

They  tore  the  bread  and  herring  out  of  Han- 
neh  Breineh's  basket  and  devoured  it  in  starved 
savagery,  clamoring  for  more. 

"Murderers!"  screamed  Hanneh  Breineh, 
goaded  beyond  endurance.  "What  are  you 
tearing  from  me  my  flesh  ?  From  where  should  I 
steal  to  give  you  more?  Here  I  had  already  a 
pot  of  potatoes  and  a  whole  loaf  of  bread  and 
two  herrings,  and  you  swallowed  it  down  in  the 
wink  of  an  eye.  I  have  to  have  Rockefeller's 
millions  to  fill  your  stomachs." 

All  at  once  Hanneh  Breineh  became  aware 
that  Benny  was  missing.  "Oi  weh!"  she  burst 
out,  wringing  her  hands  in  a  new  wave  of  woe, 
"where  is  Benny?  Did  n't  he  come  home  yet 
from  school?" 

She  ran  out  into  the  hall,  opened  the  grime- 
191 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

coated  window,  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
street;  but  Benny  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

"Abe,  Jake,  Fanny,  quick,  find  Benny!"  en- 
treated Hanneh  Breineh,  as  she  rushed  back 
into  the  kitchen.  But  the  children,  anxious  to 
snatch  a  few  minutes'  play  before  the  school- 
call,  dodged  past  her  and  hurried  out. 

With  the  baby  on  her  arm,  Hanneh  Breineh 
hastened  to  the  kindergarten. 

"Why  are  you  keeping  Benny  here  so  long?" 
she  shouted  at  the  teacher  as  she  flung  open  the 
door.  "  If  you  had  my  bitter  heart,  you  would 
send  him  home  long  ago  and  not  wait  till  I  got 
to  come  for  him." 

The  teacher  turned  calmly  and  consulted  her 
record-cards. 

"Benny  Safron?  He  wasn't  present  this 
morning." 

"Not  here?"  shrieked  Hanneh  Breineh.  "I 
pushed  him  out  myself  he  should  go.  The 
children  did  n't  want  to  take  him,  and  I  had 
no  time.  Woe  is  me!  Where  is  my  child?"  She 
began  pulling  her  hair  and  beating  her  breast 
as  she  ran  into  the  street. 
192 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

Mrs.  Pelz  was  busy  at  a  pushcart,  picking 
over  some  spotted  apples,  when  she  heard  the 
clamor  of  an  approaching  crowd.  A  block  off 
she  recognized  Hanneh  Breineh,  her  hair  di- 
sheveled, her  clothes  awry,  running  toward  her 
with  her  yelling  baby  in  her  arms,  the  crowd 
following. 

"Friend  mine,"  cried  Hanneh  Breineh,  fall- 
ing on  Mrs.  Pelz's  neck,  "I  lost  my  Benny, 
the  best  child  of  all  my  children."  Tears 
streamed  down  her  red,  swollen  eyes  as  she 
sobbed.  "Benny!  mine  heart,  mine  life!  Oi-i-i!" 

Mrs.  Pelz  took  the  frightened  baby  out  of 
the  mother's  arms. 

"Still  yourself  a  little!  See  how  you're  fright- 
ening your  child." 

"Woe  to  me!  Where  is  my  Benny?  Maybe 
he's  killed  already  by  a  car.  Maybe  he  fainted 
away  from  hunger.  He  did  n't  eat  nothing  all 
day  long.  Gottuniu!  Pity  yourself  on  me!" 

She  lifted  her  hands  full  of  tragic  entreaty. 

"People,  my  child!  Get  me  my  child!  I'll  go 
crazy  out  of  my  head !  Get  me  my  child,  or  I'll 
take  poison  before  your  eyes!" 
193 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Still  yourself  a  little!"  pleaded  Mrs.  Pelz. 

"Talk  not  to  me!"  cried  Hanneh  Breineh, 
wringing  her  hands.  "You  're  having  all  your 
children.  I  lost  mine.  Every  good  luck  comes  to 
other  people.  But  I  did  n't  live  yet  to  see  a  good 
day  in  my  life.  Mine  only  joy,  mine  Benny,  is 
lost  away  from  me." 

The  crowd  followed  Hanneh  Breineh  as  she 
wailed  through  the  streets,  leaning  on  Mrs. 
Pelz.  By  the  time  she  returned  to  her  house  the 
children  were  back  from  school;  but  seeing  that 
Benny  was  not  there,  she  chased  them  out  in 
the  street,  crying: 

"Out  of  here,  you  robbers,  gluttons!  Go  find 
Benny!"  Hanneh  Breineh  crumpled  into  a 
chair  in  utter  prostration.  "Oi  weh!  he's  lost! 
Mine  life;  my  little  bird;  mine  only  joy!  How 
many  nights  I  spent  nursing  him  when  he  had 
the  measles!  And  all  that  I  suffered  for  weeks 
and  months  when  he  had  the  whooping-cough ! 
How  the  eyes  went  out  of  my  head  till  I  learned 
him  how  to  walk,  till  I  learned  him  how  to  talk ! 
And  such  a  smart  child!  If  I  lost  all  the  others, 
it  would  n't  tear  me  so  by  the  heart." 
194 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

She  worked  herself  up  into  such  a  hysteria, 
crying,  and  tearing  her  hair,  and  hitting  her 
head  with  her  knuckles,  that  at  last  she  fell  into 
a  faint.  It  took  some  time  before  Mrs.  Pelz,  with 
the  aid  of  neighbors,  revived  her. 

"Benny,  mine  angel!"  she  moaned  as  she 
opened  her  eyes. 

Just  then  a  policeman  came  in  with  the  lost 
Benny. 

"Na,  na,  here  you  got  him  already!"  said 
Mrs.  Pelz.  "Why  did  you  carry  on  so  for  noth- 
ing? Why  did  you  tear  up  the  world  like  a 
crazy?" 

The  child's  face  was  streaked  with  tears  as 
he  cowered,  frightened  and  forlorn.  Hanneh 
Breineh  sprang  toward  him,  slapping  his  cheeks, 
boxing  his  ears,  before  the  neighbors  could  res- 
cue him  from  her. 

"Woe  on  your  head!"  cried  the  mother. 
"Where  did  you  lost  yourself?  Ain't  I  got 
enough  worries  on  my  head  than  to  go  around 
looking  for  you?  I  did  n't  have  yet  a  minute's 
peace  from  that  child  since  he  was  born!" 

"See  a  crazy  mother!"  remonstrated  Mrs. 
195 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Pelz,  rescuing  Benny  from  another  beating. 
"Such  a  mouth!  With  one  breath  she  blesses 
him  when  he  is  lost,  and  with  the  other  breath 
she  curses  him  when  he  is  found." 

Hanneh  Breineh  took  from  the  window-sill  a 
piece  of  herring  covered  with  swarming  flies, 
and  putting  it  on  a  slice  of  dry  bread,  she  filled 
a  cup  of  tea  that  had  been  stewing  all  day,  and 
dragged  Benny  over  to  the  table  to  eat. 

But  the  child,  choking  with  tears,  was  unable 
to  touch  the  food. 

"Go  eat!"  commanded  Hanneh  Breineh. 
"Eat  and  choke  yourself  eating!" 

"Maybe  she  won't  remember  me  no  more. 
Maybe  the  servant  won't  let  me  in,"  thought 
Mrs.  Pelz,  as  she  walked  by  the  brownstone 
house  on  Eighty-Fourth  Street  where  she  had 
been  told  Hanneh  Breineh  now  lived.  At  last 
she  summoned  up  enough  courage  to  climb  the 
steps.  She  was  all  out  of  breath  as  she  rang  the 
bell  with  trembling  ringers.  "Oi  weh!  even  the 
outside  smells  riches  and  plenty!  Such  curtains! 
And  shades  on  all  windows  like  by  millionaires ! 
196 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

Twenty  years  ago  she  used  to  eat  from  the  pot 
to  the  hand,  and  now  she  lives  in  such  a  palace." 

A  whiff  of  steam-heated  warmth  swept  over 
Mrs.  Pelz  as  the  door  opened,  and  she  saw  her 
old  friend  of  the  tenements  dressed  in  silk  and 
diamonds  like  a  being  from  another  world. 

"Mrs.  Pelz,  is  it  you!"  cried  Hanneh  Breineh, 
overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  her  former  neighbor. 
"Come  right  in.  Since  when  are  you  back  in 
New  York?" 

"We  came  last  week,"  mumbled  Mrs.  Pelz,  as 
she  was  led  into  a  richly  carpeted  reception-room. 

"Make  yourself  comfortable.  Take  off  your 
shawl,"  urged  Hanneh  Breineh. 

But  Mrs.  Pelz  only  drew  her  shawl  more 
tightly  around  her,  a  keen  sense  of  her  poverty 
gripping  her  as  she  gazed,  abashed  by  the  lux- 
urious wealth  that  shone  from  every  corner. 

"This  shawl  covers  up  my  rags,"  she  said, 
trying  to  hide  her  shabby  sweater. 

"I'll  tell  you  what;  come  right  into  the 

kitchen,"  suggested   Hanneh   Breineh.    "Trie 

servant  is  away  for  this  afternoon,  and  we  can 

feel  more  comfortable  there.  I  can  breathe  like 

197 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

a  free  person  in  my  kitchen  when  the  girl  has 
her  day  out." 

Mrs.  Pelz  glanced  about  her  in  an  excited 
daze.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  seen  anything 
so  wonderful  as  a  white-tiled  kitchen,  with  its 
glistening  porcelain  sink  and  the  aluminum  pots 
and  pans  that  shone  like  silver. 

"Where  are  you  staying  now?"  asked  Han- 
neh  Breineh,  as  she  pinned  an  apron  over  her 
silk  dress. 

"I  moved  back  to  Delancey  Street,  where 
we  used  to  live,"  replied  Mrs.  Pelz,  as  she  seated 
herself  cautiously  in  a  white  enameled  chair. 

"Oi  weh!  What  grand  times  we  had  in  that 
old  house  when  we  were  neighbors!"  sighed 
Hanneh  Breineh,  looking  at  her  old  friend  with 
misty  eyes. 

"You  still  think  on  Delancey  Street?  Haven't 
you  more  high-class  neighbors  uptown  here?" 

"A  good  neighbor  is  not  to  be  found  every 
day,"  deplored  Hanneh  Breineh.  "Uptown 
here,  where  each  lives  in  his  own  house,  nobody 
cares  if  the  person  next  door  is  dying  or  going 
crazy  from  loneliness.  It  ain't  anything  like  we 
198 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

used  to  have  it  in  Delancey  Street,  when  we 
could  walk  into  one  another's  rooms  without 
knocking,  and  borrow  a  pinch  of  salt  or  a  pot 
to  cook  in." 

Hanneh  Breineh  went  over  to  the  pantry- 
shelf. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  bite  right  here  on 
the  kitchen-table  like  on  Delancey  Street.  So 
long  there's  no  servant  to  watch  us  we  can  eat 
what  we  please." 

"Oi!  How  it  waters  my  mouth  with  appetite, 
the  smell  of  the  herring  and  onion!"  chuckled 
Mrs.  Pelz,  sniffing  the  welcome  odors  with 
greedy  pleasure. 

Hanneh  Breineh  pulled  a  dish-towel  from 
the  rack  and  threw  one  end  of  it  to  Mrs.  Pelz. 

"So  long  there's  no  servant  around,  we  can 
use  it  together  for  a  napkin.  It's  dirty,  anyhow. 
How  it  freshens  up  my  heart  to  see  you!"  she 
rejoiced  as  she  poured  out  her  tea  into  a  saucer. 
"  If  you  would  only  know  how  I  used  to  beg  my 
daughter  to  write  for  me  a  letter  to  you;  but 
these  American  children,  what  is  to  them  a 
mother's  feelings?" 

199 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"What  are  you  talking!"  cried  Mrs.  Pelz. 
"The  whole  world  rings  with  you  and  your 
children.  Everybody  is  envying  you.  Tell  me 
1  how  began  your  luck?" 

"You  heard  how  my  husband  died  with  con- 
sumption," replied  Hanneh  Breineh.  "The 
five  hundred  dollars  lodge  money  gave  me  the 
first  lift  in  life,  and  I  opened  a  little  grocery 
store.  Then  my  son  Abe  married  himself  to  a 
girl  with  a  thousand  dollars.  That  started  him 
in  business,  and  now  he  has  the  biggest  shirt- 
waist factory  on  West  Twenty-Ninth  Street." 

"Yes,  I  heard  your  son  had  a  factory."  Mrs. 
Pelz  hesitated  and  stammered;  "I  '11  tell  you  the 
truth.  What  I  came  to  ask  you — I  thought 
maybe  you  would  beg  your  son  Abe  if  he  would 
give  my  husband  a  job." 

"Why  not?"  said  Hanneh  Breineh.  "He 
keeps  more  than  five  hundred  hands.  I'll  ask 
him  if  he  should  take  in  Mr.  Pelz." 

"Long  years  on  you,  Hanneh  Breineh! 
You'll  save  my  life  if  you  could  only  help  my 
husband  get  work." 

"Of  course  my  son  will  help  him.  All  my 
200 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

children  like  to  do  good.  My  daughter  Fanny 
is  a  milliner  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  she  takes  in 
the  poorest  girls  in  her  shop  and  even  pays 
them  sometimes  while  they  learn  the  trade." 
Hanneh  Breineh's  face  lit  up,  and  her  chest 
filled  with  pride  as  she  enumerated  the  successes 
of  her  children.  "And  my  son  Benny  he  wrote 
a  play  on  Broadway  and  he  gave  away  more 
than  a  hundred  free  tickets  for  the  first  night." 

"Benny?  The  one  who  used  to  get  lost  from 
home  all  the  time?  You  always  did  love  that 
child  more  than  all  the  rest.  And  what  it 
Sammy  your  baby  doing?" 

"He  ain't  a  baby  no  longer.  He  goes  to  col- 
lege and  quarterbacks  the  football  team.  They 
can't  get  along  without  him. 

"And  my  son  Jake,  I  nearly  forgot  him.  He 
began  collecting  rent  in  Delancey  Street,  and 
now  he  is  boss  of  renting  the  swellest  apart- 
ment-houses on  Riverside  Drive." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  In  America  children 

are  like  money  in  the  bank,"  purred  Mrs.  Pelz, 

as  she  pinched  and  patted  Hanneh  Breineh's 

silk  sleeve.  "Oi  weh!  How  it  shines  from  you! 

201 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

You  ought  to  kiss  the  air  and  dance  for  joy  and 
happiness.  It  is  such  a  bitter  frost  outside;  a 
pail  of  coal  is  so  dear,  and  you  got  it  so  warm 
with  steam  heat.  I  had  to  pawn  my  feather  bed 
to  have  enough  for  the  rent,  and  you  are  rolling 
in  money." 

"Yes,  I  got  it  good  in  some  ways,  but  money 
ain't  everything,"  sighed  Hanneh  Breineh. 

"You  ain't  yet  satisfied?" 

"But  here  I  got  no  friends,"  complained 
Hanneh  Breineh. 

"  Friends  ? "  queried  Mrs.  Pelz.  "What  greater 
friend  is  there  on  earth  than  the  dollar?" 

"Oi!  Mrs.  Pelz;  if  you  could  only  look  into 
my  heart!  I'm  so  choked  up!  You  know  they 
say  a  cow  has  a  long  tongue,  but  can't  talk." 
Hanneh  Breineh  shook  her  head  wistfully,  and 
her  eyes  filmed  with  inward  brooding.  "My 
children  give  me  everything  from  the  best. 
When  I  was  sick,  they  got  me  a  nurse  by  day 
and  one  by  night.  They  bought  me  the  best 
wine.  If  I  asked  for  dove's  milk,  they  would 
buy  it  for  me;  but  —  but — I  can't  talk  my- 
self out  in  their  language.  They  want  to  make 
202 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

me  over  for  an  American  lady,  and  I  'm  differ- 
ent." Tears  cut  their  way  under  her  eyelids 
with  a  pricking  pain  as  she  went  on:  "When  I 
was  poor,  I  was  free,  and  could  holler  and  do 
what  I  like  in  my  own  house.  Here  I  got  to  lie 
still  like  a  mouse  under  a  broom.  Between  liv- 
ing up  to  my  Fifth-Avenue  daughter  and  keep- 
ing up  with  the  servants,  I  am  like  a  sinner  in 
the  next  world  that  is  thrown  from  one  hell  to 
another."  The  doorbell  rang,  and  Hanneh 
Breineh  jumped  up  with  a  start. 

"Oi  weh!  It  must  be  the  servant  back  al- 
ready!" she  exclaimed,  as  she  tore  off  her  apron. 
"Oi  weh !  Let's  quickly  put  the  dishes  together  in 
a  dish-pan.  If  she  sees  I  eat  on  the  kitchen  table, 
she  will  look  on  me  like  the  dirt  under  her  feet." 

Mrs.  Pelz  seized  her  shawl  in  haste. 

"I  better  run  home  quick  in  my  rags  before 
your  servant  sees  me." 

"I'll  speak  to  Abe  about  the  job,"  said  Han- 
neh Breineh,  as  she  pushed  a  bill  into  the  hand  of 
Mrs.  Pelz,  who  edged  out  as  the  servant  entered. 

"I'm  having  fried  potato  lotkes  special  for 
203 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

you,  Benny,"  said  Hanneh  Breineh,  as  the  chil- 
dren gathered  about  the  table  for  the  family 
dinner  given  in  honor  of  Benny's  success  with 
his  new  play.  "Do  you  remember  how  you  used 
to  lick  the  fingers  from  them?" 

"Oh,  mother!"  reproved  Fanny.  "Any  one 
hearing  you  would  think  we  were  still  in  the 
pushcart  district." 

"Stop  your  nagging,  sis,  and  let  ma  alone," 
commanded  Benny,  patting  his  mother's  arm 
affectionately.  "I'm  home  only  once  a  month. 
Let  her  feed  me  what  she  pleases.  My  stomach 
is  bomb-proof." 

"Do  I  hear  that  the  President  is  coming  to 
your  play?"  said  Abe,  as  he  stuffed  a  napkin 
over  his  diamond-studded  shirt-front. 

"Why  should  n't  he  come?"  returned  Benny. 
"The  critics  say  it's  the  greatest  antidote  for 
the  race  hatred  created  by  the  war.  If  you  want 
to  know,  he  is  coming  to-night;  and  what's 
more,  our  box  is  next  to  the  President's." 

"Nu,   mammeh,"    sallied   Jake,    "did   you 
ever  dream  in  Delancey  Street  that  we  should 
rub  sleeves  with  the  President?" 
204 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  always  said  that  Benny  had  more  head 
than  the  rest  of  you,"  replied  the  mother. 

As  the  laughter  died  away,  Jake  went  on: 

"Honor  you  are  getting  plenty;  but  how 
much  mezummen  does  this  play  bring  you? 
Can  I  invest  any  of  it  in  real  estate  for  you?" 

"I'm  getting  ten  per  cent  royalties  of  the 
gross  receipts,"  replied  the  youthful  playwright. 

"How  much  is  that?"  queried  Hanneh 
Breineh. 

"Enough  to  buy  up  all  your  fish-markets  in 
Delancey  Street,"  laughed  Abe  in  good-natured 
raillery  at  his  mother. 

Her  son's  jest  cut  like  a  knife-thrust  in  her 
heart.  She  felt  her  heart  ache  with  the  pain  that 
she  was  shut  out  from  their  successes.  Each 
added  triumph  only  widened  the  gulf.  And  when 
she  tried  to  bridge  this  gulf  by  asking  questions, 
they  only  thrust  her  back  upon  herself. 

"Your  fame  has  even  helped  me  get  my  hat 
trade  solid  with  the  Four  Hundred,"  put  in 
Fanny.  "You  bet  I  let  Mrs.  Van  Suyden  know 
that  our  box  is  next  to  the  President's.  She  said 
she  would  drop  in  to  meet  you.  Of  course  she 
205 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

let  on  to  me  that  she  had  n't  seen  the  play  yet, 
though  my  designer  said  she  saw  her  there  on 
the  opening  night." 

"Oh,  Gosh,  the  toadies!"  sneered  Benny. 
"Nothing  so  sickens  you  with  success  as  the 
way  people  who  once  shoved  you  off  the  side- 
walk come  crawling  to  you  on  their  stomachs 
begging  you  to  dine  with  them." 

"Say,  that  leading  man  of  yours  he's  some 
class!"  cried  Fanny.  "That's  the  man  I'm 
looking  for.  Will  you  invite  him  to  supper  after 
the  theater?" 

The  playwright  turned  to  his  mother. 

"Say,  ma,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "how  would 
you  like  a  real  actor  for  a  son-in-law?" 

"She  should  worry,"  mocked  Sam.  "She'll 
be  discussing  with  him  the  future  of  the  Greek 
drama.  Too  bad  it  does  n't  happen  to  be  War- 
field,  or  mother  could  give  him  tips  on  the 
'Auctioneer.'" 

Jake  turned  to  his  mother  with  a  covert 
grin. 

"I  guess  you'd  have  no  objection  if  Fanny 
got  next  to  Benny's  leading  man.  He  makes  at 
206 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

least  fifteen  hundred  a  week.  That  would  n't  be 
such  a  bad  addition  to  the  family,  would  it?" 

Again  the  bantering  tone  stabbed  Hanneh 
Breineh.  Everything  in  her  began  to  tremble 
and  break  loose. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  she  cried,  throwing 
her  napkin  into  her  plate.  "Do  I  count  for  a 
person  in  this  house?  If  I'll  say  something,  will 
you  even  listen  to  me?  What  is  to  me  the  grand- 
est man  that  my  daughter  could  pick  out?  An- 
other enemy  in  my  house!  Another  person  to 
shame  himself  from  me!"  She  swept  in  her 
children  in  one  glance  of  despairing  anguish  as 
she  rose  from  the  table.  "What  worth  is  an  old 
mother  to  American  children?  The  President  is 
coming  to-night  to  the  theater,  and  none  of  you 
asked  me  to  go."  Unable  to  check  the  rising 
tears,  she  fled  toward  the  kitchen  and  banged 
the  door. 

They  all  looked  at  one  another  guiltily. 

"Say,  sis,"  Benny  called  out  sharply,  "what 
sort  of  frame-up  is  this?  Have  n't  you  told 
mother  that  she  was  to  go  with  us  to-night?" 

"Yes  —  I  — "  Fanny  bit  her  lips  as  she  fum- 
207 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

bled  evasively  for  words.  "I  asked  her  if  she 
would  n't  mind  my  taking  her  some  other 
time." 

"Now  you  have  made  a  mess  of  it!"  fumed 
Benny.  "Mother '11  be  too  hurt  to  go  now." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,"  snapped  Fanny.  "I 
can't  appear  with  mother  in  a  box  at  the  thea- 
ter. Can  I  introduce  her  to  Mrs.  Van  Suyden? 
And  suppose  your  leading  man  should  ask  to 
meet  me?" 

"Take  your  time,  sis.  He  has  n't  asked  yet," 
scoffed  Benny. 

"The  more  reason  I  should  n't  spoil  my 
chances.  You  know  mother.  She'll  spill  the 
beans  that  we  come  from  Delancey  Street  the 
minute  we  introduce  her  anywhere.  Must  I  al- 
ways have  the  black  shadow  of  my  past  trailing 
after  me?" 

"But  have  you  no  feelings  for  mother?"  ad- 
monished Abe. 

"  I  've  tried  harder  than  all  of  you  to  do  my 

duty.  I've  lived  with  her."  She  turned  angrily 

upon  them.  "I've  borne  the  shame  of  mother 

while  you  bought  her  off  with  a  present  and  a 

208 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

treat  here  and  there.  God  knows  how  hard  I 
tried  to  civilize  her  so  as  not  to  have  to  blush 
with  shame  when  I  take  her  anywhere.  I 
dressed  her  in  the  most  stylish  Paris  models, 
but  Delancey  Street  sticks  out  from  every  inch 
of  her.  Whenever  she  opens  her  mouth,  I'm 
done  for.  You  fellows  had  your  chance  to  rise  in 
the  world  because  a  man  is  free  to  go  up  as  high 
as  he  can  reach  up  to;  but  I,  with  all  my  style 
and  pep,  can't  get  a  man  my  equal  because  a 
girl  is  always  judged  by  her  mother." 

They  were  silenced  by  her  vehemence,  and 
unconsciously  turned  to  Benny. 

"I  guess  we  all  tried  to  do  our  best  for 
mother,"  said  Benny,  thoughtfully.  "But 
wherever  there  is  growth,  there  is  pain  and 
heartbreak.  The  trouble  with  us  is  that  the 
ghetto  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  children  of 
the  twentieth  century  have  to  live  under  one 
roof,  and  — 

A  sound  of  crashing  dishes  came  from  the 
kitchen,  and  the  voice  of  Hanneh  Breineh  re- 
sounded through  the  dining-room  as  she  wreaked 
her  pent-up  fury  on  the  helpless  servant. 
209 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Oh,  my  nerves !  I  can't  stand  it  any  more'i 
There  will  be  no  girl  again  for  another  week!" 
cried  Fanny. 

"Oh,  let  up  on  the  old  lady,"  protested  Abe. 
"Since  she  can't  take  it  out  on  us  any  more, 
what  harm  is  it  if  she  cusses  the  servants?" 

"If  you  fellows  had  to  chase  around  employ- 
ment agencies,  you  would  n't  see  anything 
funny  about  it.  Why  can't  we  move  into  a  hotel 
that  will  do  away  with  the  need  of  servants 
altogether?" 

"I  got  it  better,"  said  Jake,  consulting  a 
notebook  from  his  pocket.  "I  have  on  my  list 
an  apartment  on  Riverside  Drive  where  there's 
only  a  small  kitchenette;  but  we  can  do  away 
with  the  cooking,  for  there  is  a  dining  service  in 
the  building." 

The  new  Riverside  apartment  to  which  Han- 
neh  Breineh  was  removed  by  her  socially  ambi- 
tious children  was  for  the  habitually  active 
mother  an  empty  desert  of  enforced  idleness. 
Deprived  of  her  kitchen,  Hanneh  Breineh  felt 
robbed  of  the  last  reason  for  her  existence. 
210 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

Cooking  and  marketing  and  puttering  busily 
with  pots  and  pans  gave  her  an  excuse  for  living 
and  struggling  and  bearing  up  with  her  chil- 
dren. The  lonely  idleness  of  Riverside  Drive 
stunned  all  her  senses  and  arrested  all  her 
thoughts.  It  gave  her  that  choked  sense  of  be- 
ing cut  off  from  air,  from  life,  from  everything 
warm  and  human.  The  cold  indifference,  the 
each-for-himself  look  in  the  eyes  of  the  people 
about  her  were  like  stinging  slaps  in  the  face. 
Even  the  children  had  nothing  real  or  human 
in  them.  They  were  starched  and  stiff  minia- 
tures of  their  elders. 

But  the  most  unendurable  part  of  the  stifling 
life  on  Riverside  Drive  was  being  forced  to  eat 
in  the  public  dining-room.  No  matter  how  hard 
she  tried  to  learn  polite  table  manners,  she  al- 
ways found  people  staring  at  her,  and  her  daugh- 
ter rebuking  her  for  eating  with  the  wrong 
fork  or  guzzling  the  soup  or  staining  the  cloth. 

In  a  fit  of  rebellion  Hanneh  Breineh  resolved 
never  to  go  dgwn  to  the  public  dining-room 
again,  but  to  make  use  of  the  gas-stove  in  the 
kitchenette  to  cook  her  own  meals.  That  very 

211 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

day  she  rode  down  to  Delancey  Street  and  pur- 
chased a  new  market-basket.  For  some  time 
she  walked  among  the  haggling  pushcart  vend- 
ers, relaxing  and  swimming  in  the  warm  waves 
of  her  old  familiar  past. 

A  fish-peddler  held  up  a  large  carp  in  his 
black,  hairy  hand  and  waved  it  dramatically: 

"Women !  Women !  Fourteen  cents  a  pound ! " 

He  ceased  his  raucous  shouting  as  he  saw 
Hanneh  Breineh  in  her  rich  attire  approach  hif 
cart. 

"How  much?"  she  asked,  pointing  to  the 
fattest  carp. 

"Fifteen  cents,  lady,"  said  the  peddler, 
smirking  as  he  raised  his  price. 

"Swindler!  Did  n't  I  hear  you  call  fourteen 
cents?"  shrieked  Hanneh  Breineh,  exultingly, 
the  spirit  of  the  penny  chase  surging  in  her 
blood.  Diplomatically,  Hanneh  Breineh  turned 
as  if  to  go,  and  the  fisherman  seized  her  basket 
in  frantic  fear. 

"I  should  live;  I'm  losing  money  on  the  fish, 
lady,"  whined  the  peddler.  "I'll  let  it  down  to 
thirteen  cents  for  you  only." 
212 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

"Two  pounds  for  a  quarter,  and  not  a  penny 
more,"  said  Hanneh  Breineh,  thrilling  again 
with  the  rare  sport  of  bargaining,  which  had 
been  her  chief  joy  in  the  good  old  days  of  pov- 
erty. 

"Nu,  I  want  to  make  the  first  sale  for  good 
luck."  The  peddler  threw  the  fish  on  the  scale. 

As  he  wrapped  up  the  fish,  Hanneh  Breineh 
saw  the  driven  look  of  worry  in  his  haggard 
eyes,  and  when  he  counted  out  the  change 
from  her  dollar,  she  waved  it  aside.  "Keep  it 
for  your  luck,"  she  said,  and  hurried  off  to  strike 
a  new  bargain  at  a  pushcart  of  onions. 

Hanneh  Breineh  returned  triumphantly  with 
her  purchases.  The  basket  under  her  arm  gave 
forth  the  old,  homelike  odors  of  herring  and 
garlic,  while  the  scaly  tail  of  a  four-pound  carp 
protruded  from  its  newspaper  wrapping.  A 
gilded  placard  on  the  door  of  the  apartment- 
house  proclaimed  that  all  merchandise  must  be 
delivered  through  the  trade  entrance  in  the 
rear;  but  Hanneh  Breineh  with  her  basket 
strode  proudly  through  the  marble-paneled 
hall  and  rang  nonchalantly  for  the  elevator. 
213 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

The  uniformed  hall-man,  erect,  expression- 
less, frigid  with  dignity,  stepped  forward: 

"Just  a  minute,  madam.  I'll  call  a  boy  to 
take  up  your  basket  for  you." 

Hanneh  Breineh,  glaring  at  him,  jerked  the 
basket  savagely  from  his  hands.  "Mind  your 
own  business ! "  she  retorted.  "  I  '11  take  it  up 
myself.  Do  you  think  you  're  a  Russian  police- 
man to  boss  me  in  my  own  house?" 

Angry  lines  appeared  on  the  countenance  of 
the  representative  of  social  decorum. 

"It  is  against  the  rules,  madam,"  he  said, 
stiffly. 

"You  should  sink  into  the  earth  with  all  your 
rules  and  brass  buttons.  Ain't  this  America? 
Ain't  this  a  free  country?  Can't  I  take  up  in  my 
own  house  what  I  buy  with  my  own  money?" 
cried  Hanneh  Breineh,  reveling  in  the  oppor- 
tunity to  shower  forth  the  volley  of  invectives 
that  had  been  suppressed  in  her  for  the  weeks 
of  deadly  dignity  of  Riverside  Drive. 

In  the  midst  of  this  uproar  Fanny  came 
in  with  Mrs.  Van  Suyden.  Hanneh  Breineh 
rushed  over  to  her,  crying: 
214 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

"This  bossy  policeman  won't  let  me  take  up 
my  basket  in  the  elevator." 

The  daughter,  unnerved  with  shame  and 
confusion,  took  the  basket  in  her  white-gloved 
hand  and  ordered  the  hall-boy  to  take  it  around 
to  the  regular  delivery  entrance. 

Hanneh  Breineh  was  so  hurt  by  her  daugh- 
ter's apparent  defense  of  the  hall-man's  rules 
that  she  utterly  ignored  Mrs.  Van  Suyden's 
greeting  and  walked  up  the  seven  flights  of 
stairs  out  of  sheer  spite. 

"You  see  the  tragedy  of  my  life?"  broke  out 
Fanny,  turning  to  Mrs.  Van  Suyden. 

"You  poor  child!  You  go  right  up  to  your 
dear,  old  lady  mother,  and  I'll  come  some 
other  time." 

Instantly  Fanny  regretted  her  words.  Mrs. 
Van  Suyden's  pity  only  roused  her  wrath  the 
more  against  her  mother. 

Breathless  from  climbing  the  stairs,  Hanneh 
Breineh  entered  the  apartment  just  as  Fanny 
tore  the  faultless  millinery  creation  from  her 
head  and  threw  it  on  the  floor  in  a  rage. 

"Mother,  you  are  the  ruination  of  my  life! 
215 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

You  have  driven  away  Mrs.  Van  Suyden,  as 
you  have  driven  away  all  my  best  friends. 
What  do  you  think  we  got  this  apartment  for 
but  to  get  rid  of  your  fish  smells  and  your 
brawls  with  the  servants  ?  And  here  you  come 
with  a  basket  on  your  arm  as  if  you  just  landed 
from  steerage!  And  this  afternoon,  of  all  times, 
when  Benny  is  bringing  his  leading  man  to  tea. 
When  will  you  ever  stop  disgracing  us?" 

"When  I'm  dead,"  said  Hanneh  Breineh, 
grimly.  "When  the  earth  will  cover  me  up, 
then  you'll  be  free  to  go  your  American  way. 
I  'm  not  going  to  make  myself  over  for  a  lady 
on  Riverside  Drive.  I  hate  you  and  all  your 
swell  friends.  I'll  not  let  myself  be  choked  up 
here  by  you  or  by  that  hall-boss  policeman  that 
is  higher  in  your  eyes  than  your  own  mother." 

"So  that's  your  thanks  for  all  we've  done 
for  you?"  cried  the  daughter. 

"All  you've  done  for  me!"  shouted  Hanneh 
Breineh.  "What  have  you  done  for  me?  You 
hold  me  like  a  dog  on  a  chain!  It  stands  in  the 
Talmud;  some  children  give  their  mothers  dry 
bread  and  water  and  go  to  heaven  for  it,  and 
216 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

some  give  their  mother  roast  duck  and  go  to 
Gehenna  because  it's  not  given  with  love." 

"You  want  me  to  love  you  yet?"  raged  the 
daughter.  "You  knocked  every  bit  of  love  out 
of  me  when  I  was  yet  a  kid.  All  the  memories 
of  childhood  I  have  is  your  everlasting  cursing 
and  yelling  that  we  were  gluttons." 

The  bell  rang  sharply,  and  Hanneh  Bremen 
flung  open  the  door. 

"Your  groceries,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy. 

Hanneh  Breineh  seized  the  basket  from  him, 
and  with  a  vicious  fling  sent  it  rolling  across  the 
room,  strewing  its  contents  over  the  Persian 
rugs  and  inlaid  floor.  Then  seizing  her  hat  and 
coat,  she  stormed  out  of  the  apartment  and 
down  the  stairs. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pelz  sat  crouched  and  shiver- 
ing over  their  meager  supper  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Hanneh  Breineh  in  fur  coat  and 
plumed  hat  charged  into  the  room. 

"I  come  to  cry  out  to  you  my  bitter  heart," 
she  sobbed.  "Woe  is  me!  It  is  so  black  for  my 
eyes!" 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Hanneh 
217 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Breineh?"  cried  Mrs.  Pelz  in  bewildered  alarm. 

"I  am  turned  out  of  my  own  house  by  the 
brass-buttoned  policeman  that  bosses  the  ele- 
vator. Oi-i-i-i!  Weh-h-h-h!  What  have  I  from 
my  life?  The  whole  world  rings  with  my  son's 
play.  Even  the  President  came  to  see  it,  and  I, 
his  mother,  have  not  seen  it  yet.  My  heart  is 
dying  in  me  like  in  a  prison,"  she  went  on  wail- 
ing. "  I  am  starved  out  for  a  piece  of  real  eating. 
In  that  swell  restaurant  is  nothing  but  napkins 
and  forks  and  lettuce-leaves.  There  are  a  dozen 
plates  to  every  bite  of  food.  And  it  looks  so 
fancy  on  the  plate,  but  it's  nothing  but  straw 
in  the  mouth.  I  'm  starving,  but  I  can't  swallow 
down  their  American  eating." 

"Hanneh  Breineh,"  said  Mrs.  Pelz,  "you 
are  sinning  before  God.  Look  on  your  fur  coat; 
it  alone  would  feed  a  whole  family  for  a  year.  I 
never  had  yet  a  piece  of  fur  trimming  on  a  coat, 
and  you  are  in  fur  from  the  neck  to  the  feet.  I 
never  had  yet  a  piece  of  feather  on  a  hat,  and 
your  hat  is  all  feathers." 

"What  are  you  envying  me?"  protested 
Hanneh  Breineh.  "What  have  I  from  all  my 
218 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

fine  furs  and  feathers  when  my  children  are 
strangers  to  me  ?  All  the  fur  coats  in  the  world 
can't  warm  up  the  loneliness  inside  my  heart. 
All  the  grandest  feathers  can't  hide  the  bitter 
shame  in  my  face  that  my  children  shame 
themselves  from  me." 

Hanneh  Breineh  suddenly  loomed  over  them 
like  some  ancient,  heroic  figure  of  the  Bible 
condemning  unrighteousness. 

"Why  should  my  children  shame  themselves 
from  me  ?  From  where  did  they  get  the  stuff  to 
work  themselves  up  in  the  world  ?  Did  they  get 
it  from  the  air?  How  did  they  get  all  their 
smartness  to  rise  over  the  people  around  them? 
Why  don't  the  children  of  born  American  - 
mothers  write  my  Benny's  plays?  It  is  I,  who 
never  had  a  chance  to  be  a  person,  who  gave 
him  the  fire  in  his  head.  If  I  would  have  had  a 
chance  to  go  to  school  and  learn  the  language, 
what  couldn't  I  have  been?  It  is  I  and  my 
mother  and  my  mother's  mother  and  my  father 
and  father's  father  who  had  such  a  black  life  in 
Poland;  it  is  our  choked  thoughts  and  feelings 
that  are  flaming  up  in  my  children  and  making 
219 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

them  great  in  America.  And  yet  they  shame 
themselves  from  me!" 

For  a  moment  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pelz  were  hyp- 
notized by  the  sweep  of  her  words.  Then  Han- 
neh  Breineh  sank  into  a  chair  in  utter  exhaus- 
tion. She  began  to  weep  bitterly,  her  body 
shaking  with  sobs. 

"Woe  is  me!  For  what  did  I  suffer  and  hope 
on  my  children?  A  bitter  old  age  —  my  end. 
I'm  so  lonely!" 

All  the  dramatic  fire  seemed  to  have  left  her. 
The  spell  was  broken.  They  saw  the  Hanneh 
Breineh  of  old,  ever  discontented,  ever  com- 
plaining even  in  the  midst  of  riches  and  plenty. 

"Hanneh  Breineh,"  said  Mrs.  Pelz,  "the 
only  trouble  with  you  is  that  you  got  it  too 
good.  People  will  tear  the  eyes  out  of  your  head 
because  you're  complaining  yet.  If  I  only  had 
your  fur  coat!  If  I  only  had  your  diamonds!  I 
have  nothing.  You  have  everything.  You  are 
living  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  You  go  right  back 
home  and  thank  God  that  you  don't  have  my 
bitter  lot." 

"You  got  to  let  me  stay  here  with  you,"  in- 
220 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

sisted  Hanneh  Breineh.  "I  '11  not  go  back  to  my 
children  except  when  they  bury  me.  When  they 
will  see  my  dead  face,  they  will  understand  how 
they  killed  me." 

Mrs.  Pelz  glanced  nervously  at  her  husband. 
They  barely  had  enough  covering  for  their  one 
bed;  how  could  they  possibly  lodge  a  visitor? 

"I  don't  want  to  take  up  your  bed,"  said 
Hanneh  Breineh.  "I  don't  care  if  I  have  to 
sleep  on  the  floor  or  on  the  chairs,  but  I  '11  stay 
here  for  the  night." 

Seeing  that  she  was  bent  on  staying,  Mr. 
Pelz  prepared  to  sleep  by  putting  a  few  chairs 
next  to  the  trunk,  and  Hanneh  Breineh  was  in- 
vited to  share  the  rickety  bed  with  Mrs.  Pelz. 

The  mattress  was  full  of  lumps  and  hollows. 
Hanneh  Breineh  lay  cramped  and  miserable, 
unable  to  stretch  out  her  limbs.  For  years  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  hair  mattresses  and 
ample  woolen  blankets,  so  that  though  she 
covered  herself  with  her  fur  coat,  she  was  too 
cold  to  sleep.  But  worse  than  the  cold  were  the 
creeping  things  on  the  wall.  And  as  the  lights 
were  turned  low,  the  mice  came  through  the 
221 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

broken  plaster  and  raced  across  the  floor.  The 
foul  odors  of  the  kitchen-sink  added  to  the 
night  of  horrors. 

"Are  you  going  back  home?"  asked  Mrs. 
Pelz,  as  Hanneh  Bremen  put  on  her  hat  and 
coat  the  next  morning. 

"I  don't  know  where  I  'm  going,"  she  replied. 
as  she  put  a  bill  into  Mrs.  Pelz's  hand. 

For  hours  Hanneh  Breineh  walked  through 
the  crowded  ghetto  streets.  She  realized  that 
she  no  longer  could  endure  the  sordid  ugliness 
of  her  past,  and  yet  she  could  not  go  home  to 
her  children.  She  only  felt  that  she  must  go  on 
and  on. 

In  the  afternoon  a  cold,  drizzling  rain  set  in. 
She  was  worn  out  from  the  sleepless  night  and 
hours  of  tramping.  With  a  piercing  pain  in  her 
heart  she  at  last  turned  back  and  boarded  the 
subway  for  Riverside  Drive.  She  had  fled  from 
the  marble  sepulcher  of  the  Riverside  apart- 
ment to  her  old  home  in  the  ghetto;  but  now 
she  knew  that  she  could  not  live  there  again. 
She  had  outgrown  her  past  by  the  habits  of 
years  of  physical  comforts,  and  these  material 
222 


THE  FAT  OF  THE  LAND 

f 

tomforts  that  she  could  no  longer  do  without 
choked  and  crushed  the  life  within  her. 

A  cold  shudder  went  through  Hanneh 
Breineh  as  she  approached  the  apartment- 
house.  Peering  through  the  plate  glass  of  the 
door  she  saw  the  face  of  the  uniformed  hall- 
man.  For  a  hesitating  moment  she  remained 
standing  in  the  drizzling  rain,  unable  to  enter, 
and  yet  knowing  full  well  that  she  would  have 
to  enter. 

Then  suddenly  Hanneh  Breineh  began  to 
laugh.  She  realized  that  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  laughed  since  her  children  had  become 
rich.  But  it  was  the  hard  laugh  of  bitter  sorrow. 
Tears  streamed  down  her  furrowed  cheeks  as 
she  walked  slowly  up  the  granite  steps. 

"The  fat  of  the  land!"  muttered  Hanneh 
Breineh,  with  a  choking  sob  as  the  hall-man 
with  immobile  face  deferentially  swung  open 
the  door—  "the  fat  of  the  land!" 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

WITH  the  suitcase  containing  all  her  worldly 
possessions  under  her  arm,  Sophie  Sapinsky  el- 
bowed her  way  through  the  noisy  ghetto  crowds. 
Pushcart  peddlers  and  pullers-in  shouted  and 
gesticulated.  Women  with  market-baskets 
pushed  and  shoved  one  another,  eyes  straining 
with  the  one  thought  —  how  to  get  the  food  a 
penny  cheaper.  With  the  same  strained  intent- 
ness,  Sophie  scanned  each  tenement,  search- 
ing for  a  room  cheap  enough  for  her  dwindling 
means. 

In  a  dingy  basement  window  a  crooked  sign, 
in  straggling,  penciled  letters,  caught  Sophie's 
eye:  "Room  to  let,  a  bargain,  cheap." 

The  exuberant  phrasing  was  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  extravagant  dilapidation  of  the  sur- 
roundings. "This  is  the  very  place,"  thought 
Sophie.  "There  could  n't  be  nothing  cheaper 
in  all  New  York." 

At  the  foot  of  the  basement  steps  she  knocked. 
224 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

"Come  in!"  a  voice  answered. 

As  she  opened  the  door  she  saw  an  old  man 
bending  over  a  pot  of  potatoes  on  a  shoe- 
maker's bench.  A  group  of  children  in  all  de- 
grees of  rags  surrounded  him,  greedily  snatch- 
ing at  the  potatoes  he  handed  out. 

Sophie  paused  for  an  instant,  but  her  absorp- 
tion in  her  own  problem  was  too  great  to  halt 
the  question:  uls  there  a  room  to  let?" 

"Hanneh  Breineh,  in  the  back,  has  a  room." 
The  old  man  was  so  preoccupied  filling  the 
hungry  hands  that  he  did  not  even  look  up. 

Sophie  groped  her  way  to  the  rear  hall.  A 
gaunt-faced  woman  answered  her  inquiry  with 
loquacious  enthusiasm.  "A  grand  room  for  the 
money.  I  '11  let  it  down  to  you  only  for  three 
dollars  a  month.  In  the  whole  block  is  no 
bigger  bargain.  I  should  live  so." 

As  she  talked,  the1  woman  led  her  through  the 
dark  hall  into  an  airshaft  room.  A  narrow  win- 
dow looked  out  into  the  bottom  of  a  chimney- 
like  pit,  where  lay  the  accumulated  refuse  from 
a  score  of  crowded  kitchens. 

"Oi  weh!"  gasped  Sophie,  throwing  open  the 
225 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

sash.  "No  air  and  no  light.  Outside  shines  the 
sun  and  here  it's  so  dark." 

"It  ain't  so  dark.  It's  only  a  little  shady. 
Let  me  only  turn  up  the  gas  for  you  and  you  '11 
quick  see  everything  like  with  sunshine." 

The  claw-fingered  flame  revealed  a  rusty, 
iron  cot,  an  inverted  potato  barrel  that  served 
for  a  table,  and  two  soap-boxes  for  chairs. 

Sophie  felt  of  the  cot.  It  sagged  and  flopped 
under  her  touch.  "The  bed  has  only  three  feet! " 
she  exclaimed  in  dismay. 

"You  can't  have  Rockefeller's  palace  for 
three  dollars  a  month,"  defended  Hanneh 
Breineh,  as  she  shoved  one  of  the  boxes  under 
the  legless  corner  of  the  cot.  "If  the  bed  ain't 
so  steady,  so  you  got  good  neighbors.  Upstairs 
lives  Shprintzeh  Gittle,  the  herring-woman. 
You  can  buy  by  her  the  biggest  bargains  in  fish, 
a  few  days  older. . . .  What  she  got  left  over  from 
the  Sabbath,  she  sells  to  the  neighbors  cheap. . . . 
In  the  front  lives  Shmendrik,  the  shoemaker. 
I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  he  ain't  no  real  shoe- 
maker. He  never  yet  made  a  pair  of  whole  shoes 
in  his  life.  He's  a  learner  from  the  old  country 
226 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

—  a  tzadik,  a  saint;  but  every  time  he  sees  in 
the  street  a  child  with  torn  feet,  he  calls  them 
in  and  patches  them  up.  His  own  eating,  the  last 
bite  from  his  mouth,  he  divides  up  with  them." 

"Three  dollars,"  deliberated  Sophie,  scarcely 
hearing  Hanneh  Bremen's  chatter.  "I  will 
never  find  anything  cheaper.  It  has  a  door  to 
lock  and  I  can  shut  this  woman  out ...  I  '11  take 
it,"  she  said,  handing  her  the  money. 

Hanneh  Breineh  kissed  the  greasy  bills 
gloatingly.  "I'll  treat  you  like  a  mother!  You'll 
have  it  good  by  me  like  in  your  own  home." 

"Thanks  —  but  I  got  no  time  to  shmoos.  I 
got  to  be  alone  to  get  my  work  done." 

The  rebuff  could  not  penetrate  Hanneh  Brei- 
neh's  joy  over  the  sudden  possession  of  three 
dollars. 

"Long  years  on  you!  May  we  be  to  good 
luck  to  one  another!"  was  Hanneh  Breineh's 
blessing  as  she  closed  the  door. 

Alone   in   her   room  —  her   room,   securely 

hers  — -  yet  with  the  flash  of  triumph,  a  stab  of 

bitterness.  All  that  was  hers  — •  so  wretched  and 

so  ugly!  Had  her  eager  spirit,  eager  to  give  and 

227 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

give,  no  claim  to  a  bit  of  beauty  — •  a  shred  of 
comfort? 

Perhaps  her  family  was  right  in  condemning 
her  rashness.  Was  it  worth  while  to  give  up  the 
peace  of  home,  the  security  of  a  regular  job  — • 
suffer  hunger,  loneliness,  and  want  — •  for  what? 
For  something  she  knew  in  her  heart  was  be- 
yond her  reach.  Would  her  writing  ever  amount 
to  enough  to  vindicate  the  uprooting  of  her 
past?  Would  she  ever  become  articulate  enough 
to  express  beautifully  what  she  saw  and  felt? 
What  had  she,  after  all,  but  a  stifling,  sweat- 
shop experience,  a  meager,  night-school  educa- 
tion, and  this  wild,  blind  hunger  to  release  the 
dumbness  that  choked  her? 

Sophie  spread  her  papers  on  the  cot  beside 
her.  Resting  her  elbows  on  the  potato  barrel, 
she  clutched  her  pencil  with  tense  fingers.  In 
the  notebook  before  her  were  a  hundred  begin- 
nings, essays,  abstractions,  outbursts  of  chaotic 
moods.  She  glanced  through  the  titles:  "Be- 
lieve in  Yourself,"  "The  Quest  of  the  Ideal." 

Meaningless  tracings  on  the  paper,  her  words 
seemed  to  her  now  —  a  restless  spirit  pawing  at 
228 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

the  air.  The  intensity  of  experience,  the  surge 
of  emotion  that  had  been  hers  when  she  wrote 
• —  where  were  they?  The  words  had  failed  to 
catch  the  life-beat  —  had  failed  to  register  the 
passion  she  had  poured  into  them. 

Perhaps  she  was  not  a  writer,  after  all.  Had 
the  years  and  years  of  night-study  been  in  vain? 
Choked  with  discouragement,  the  cry  broke 
from  her,  "O  —  God  —  God  help  me!  I  feel  — 
I  see,  but  it  all  dies  in  me —  dumb!" 

Tedious  days  passed  into  weeks.  Again 
Sophie  sat  staring  into  her  notebook.  "There's 
nothing  here  that's  alive.  Not  a  word  yet  says 
what's  in  me  ... 

"But  it  is  in  me!"  With  clenched  fist  she 
smote  her  bosom.  "It  must  be  in  me!  I  believe 
in  it!  I  got  to  get  it  out  —  even  if  it  tears  my 
flesh  in  pieces  —  even  if  it  kills  me! ... 

"But  these  words — these  flat,  dead  words . . . 

"Whether  I  can  write  or  can't  write  —  I 

can't  stop  writing.  I  can't  rest.  I  can't  breathe. 

There's  no  peace,  no  running  away  for  me  on 

earth  except  in  the  struggle  to  give  out  what's 

229 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

in  me.  The  beat  from  my  heart  —  the  blood 
from  my  veins — -must  flow  out  into  my  words." 

She  returned  to  her  unfinished  essay,  "Be- 
lieve in  Yourself."  Her  mind  groping  — •  clutch- 
ing at  the  misty  incoherence  that  clouded  her 
thoughts  — •  she  wrote  on. 

"These  sentences  are  yet  only  wood  —  lead; 
but  I  can't  help  it  • — I  '11  push  on  —  on  —  I  '11 
not  eat  —  I  '11  not  sleep  —  I  '11  not  move  from 
this  spot  till  I  get  it  to  say  on  the  paper  what  I 
got  in  my  heart!" 

Slowly  the  dead  words  seemed  to  begin  to 
breathe.  Her  eyes  brightened.  Her  cheeks 
flushed.  Her  very  pencil  trembled  with  the 
eager  onrush  of  words. 

Then  a  sharp  rap  sounded  on  her  door.  With 
a  gesture  of  irritation  Sophie  put  down  her 
pencil  and  looked  into  the  burning,  sunken  eyes 
of  her  neighbor,  Hanneh  Breineh. 

"I  got  yourself  a  glass  of  tea,  good  friend.  It 
ain't  much  I  got  to  give  away,  but  it's  warm 
even  if  it's  nothing." 

Sophie  scowled.  "You  must  n't  bother  your- 
self with  me.  I'm  so  busy —  thanks." 
230 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

"Don't  thank  me  yet  so  quick.  I  got  no 
sugar."  Hanneh  Breineh  edged  herself  into  the 
room  confidingly.  "At  home,  in  Poland,  I  not 
only  had  sugar  for  tea  —  but  even  jelly  —  a 
jelly  that  would  lift  you  up  to  heaven.  I  thought 
in  America  everything  would  be  so  plenty,  I 
could  drink  the  tea  out  from  my  sugar-bowl. 
But  ach!  Not  in  Poland  did  my  children  starve 
like  in  America!" 

Hanneh  Breineh,  in  a  friendly  manner,  set- 
tled herself  on  the  sound  end  of  the  bed,  and 
began  her  jeremiad. 

"Yosef,  my  man,  ain't  no  bread-giver.  Al- 
ready he  got  consumption  the  second  year.  One 
week  he  works  and  nine  weeks  he  lays  sick." 

In  despair  Sophie  gathered  her  papers,  won- 
dering how  to  get  the  woman  out  of  her  room. 
She  glanced  through  the  page  she  had  written, 
but  Hanneh  Breineh,  unconscious  of  her  in- 
difference, went  right  on. 

"How  many  times  it  is  tearing  the  heart 

out  from  my  body — -should  I  take  Yosef 's 

milk  to  give  to  the  baby,  or  the  baby's  milk  to 

give  to  Yosef?  If  he  was  dead  the  pensions  they 

231 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

give  to  widows  would  help  feed  my  children. 
Now  I  got  only  the  charities  to  help  me.  A 
black  year  on  them!  They  should  only  have  to 
feed  their  own  children  on  what  they  give  me." 

Resolved  not  to  listen  to  the  intruder,  Sophie 
debated  within  herself:  "Should  I  call  my  es- 
say 'Believe  in  Yourself,'  or  would  n't  it  be 
stronger  to  say,  'Trust  Yourself?  But  if  I  say, 
'Trust  Yourself,'  would  n't  they  think  that  I 
got  the  words  from  Emerson?" 

Hanneh  Breineh's  voice  went  on,  but  it 
sounded  to  Sophie  like  a  faint  buzzing  from 
afar.  "Gotteniu!  How  much  did  it  cost  me  my 
life  to  go  and  swear  myself  that  my  little  Fannie 
—  only  skin  and  bones  —  that  she  is  already 
fourteen!  How  it  chokes  me  the  tears  every 
morning  when  I  got  to  wake  her  and  push  her 
out  to  the  shop  when  her  eyes  are  yet  shutting 
themselves  with  sleep!" 

Sophie  glanced  at  her  wrist-watch  as  it 
ticked  away  the  precious  minutes.  She  must  get 
rid  of  the  woman!  Had  she  not  left  her  own 
sister,  sacrificed  all  comfort,  all  association, 
for  solitude  and  its  golden  possibilities?  For  the 
232 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

first  time  in  her  life  she  had  the  chance  to  be 
by  herself  and  think.  And  now,  the  thoughts 
which  a  moment  ago  had  seemed  like  a  flock 
of  fluttering  birds  had  come  so  close  —  and  this 
woman  with  her  sordid  wailing  had  scattered 
them. 

"I'm  a  savage,  a  beast,  but  I  got  to  ask  her 
to  get  out  — •  this  very  minute,"  resolved 
Sophie.  But  before  she  could  summon  the  cour- 
age to  do  what  she  wanted  to  do,  there  was  a 
timid  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  wizened  little 
Fannie,  her  face  streaked  with  tears,  stumbled  in. 

"The  inspector  said  it's  a  lie.  I  ain't  yet 
fourteen,"  she  whimpered. 

Hanneh  Breineh  paled.  "Woe  is  me!  Sent 
back  from  the  shop?  God  from  the  world  —  is 
there  no  end  to  my  troubles?  Why  did  n't  you 
hide  yourself  when  you  saw  the  inspector 
come?" 

"I  was  running  to  hide  myself  under  the 
table,  but  she  caught  me  and  she  said  she'll 
take  me  to  the  Children's  Society  and  arrest 
me  and  my  mother  for  sending  me  to  work  too 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Arrest  me?"  shrieked  Hanneh  Breineh, 
beating  her  breast.  "Let  them  only  come  and 
arrest  me!  I'll  show  America  who  I  am! 
Let  them  only  begin  themselves  with  me  I . . . 
Black  is  for  my  eyes  .  .  .  the  groceryman  will 
not  give  us  another  bread  till  we  pay  him  the 
bill!" 

"The  inspector  said  .  .  ."  The  child's  brow 
puckered  in  an  effort  to  recall  the  words. 

"What  did  the  inspector  said?  Gotteniu!" 
Hanneh  Breineh  wrung  her  hands  in  passionate 
entreaty.  "Listen  only  once  to  my  prayer!  Send 
on  the  inspector  only  a  quick  death!  I  only  wish 
her  to  have  her  own  house  with  twenty-four 
rooms  and  each  of  the  twenty-four  rooms  should 
be  twenty-four  beds  and  the  chills  and  the 
fever  should  throw  her  from  one  bed  to  an- 
other!" 

"Hanneh  Breineh,  still  yourself  a  little,"  en- 
treated Sophie. 

"How  can  I  still  myself  without  Fannie's 
wages?  Bitter  is  me!  Why  do  I  have  to  live  so 
long?" 

"The  inspector  said  .  .  ." 
234 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

"What  did  the  inspector  said?  A  thunder 
should  strike  the  inspector!  Ain't  I  as  good  a 
mother  as  other  mothers?  Wouldn't  I  better 
send  my  children  to  school?  But  who'll  give  us 
to  eat?  And  who'll  pay  us  the  rent?" 

Hanneh  Breineh  wiped  her  red-lidded  eyes 
with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"The  president  from  America  should  only 
come  to  my  bitter  heart.  Let  him  go  fighting 
himself  with  the  pushcarts  how  to  get  the  eat- 
ing a  penny  cheaper.  Let  him  try  to  feed  his 
children  on  the  money  the  charities  give  me  and 
we'd  see  if  he  would  n't  better  send  his  littlest 
ones  to  the  shop  better  than  to  let  them  starve 
before  his  eyes.  Woe  is  me!  What  for  did  I  come 
to  America?  What's  my  life  — •  nothing  but  one 
terrible,  never-stopping  fight  with  the  grocer 
and  the  butcher  and  the  landlord  ..." 

Suddenly  Sophie's  resentment  for  her  lost 
morning  was  forgotten.  The  crying  waste  of 
Hanneh  Bremen's  life  lay  open  before  her  eyes 
like  pictures  in  a  book.  She  saw  her  own  life 
in  Hanneh  Breineh's  life.  Her  efforts  to  write 
were  like  Hanneh  Breineh's  efforts  to  feed  her 
235 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

children.  Behind  her  life  and  Hanneh  Branch's 
life  she  saw  the  massed  ghosts  of  thousands 
upon  thousands  beating  —  beating  out  their 
hearts  against  rock  barriers. 

"The  inspector  said  .  .  ."  Fannie  timidly  at- 
tempted again  to  explain. 

"The  inspector!"  shrieked  Hanneh  Breineh, 
as  she  seized  hold  of  Fannie  in  a  rage.  "Hell- 
fire  should  burn  the  inspector!  Tell  me  again 
about  the  inspector  and  I'll  choke  the  life  out 
from  you  —  " 

Sophie  sprang  forward  to  protect  the  child 
from  the  mother.  "She's  only  trying  to  tell 
you  something." 

"Why  should  she  yet  throw  salt  on  my 
wounds  ?  If  there  was  enough  bread  in  the  house 
would  I  need  an  inspector  to  tell  me  to  send  her 
to  school?  If  America  is  so  interested  in  poor 
people's  children,  then  why  don't  they  give 
them  to  eat  till  they  should  go  to  work?  What 
learning  can  come  into  a  child's  head  when  the 
stomach  is  empty?" 

A  clutter  of  feet  down  the  creaking  cellar 
steps,  a  scuffle  of  broken  shoes,  and  a  chorus  of 
236 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

shrill  voices,  as  the  younger  children  rushed  in 
from  school. 

"Mamma  —  what's  to  eat?" 

"It  smells  potatoes!" 

"Pfui!  The  pot  is  empty!  It  smells  over  from 
Cohen's." 

"Jake  grabbed  all  the  bread!" 

"Mamma  —  he  kicked  the  piece  out  from  my 
hands!" 

"Mamma  —  it's  so  empty  in  my  stomach! 
Ain't  there  nothing?" 

"  Gluttons  —  wolves  —  thieves!"  Hanneh 
Breineh  shrieked.  "I  should  only  live  to  bury 
you  all  in  one  day!" 

The  children,  regardless  of  Hanneh  Breineh's 
invectives,  swarmed  around  her  like  hungry 
bees,  tearing  at  her  apron,  her  skirt.  Their 
voices  rose  in  increased  clamor,  topped  only  by 
their  mother's  imprecations.  "Gotteniu!  Tear 
me  away  from  these  leeches  on  my  neck!  Send 
on  them  only  a  quick  death! . . .  Only  a  minute's 
peace  before  I  die!" 

"Hanneh  Breineh  —  children !  What's  the 
matter?"  Shmendrik  stood  at  the  door.  The 
237 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

sweet  quiet  of  the  old  man  stilled  the  raucous 
voices  as  the  coming  of  evening  stills  the  noises 
of  the  day. 

"There's  no  end  to  my  troubles!  Hear  them 
hollering  for  bread,  and  the  grocer  stopped  to 
give  till  the  bill  is  paid.  Woe  is  me!  Fannie  sent 
home  by  the  inspector  and  not  a  crumb  in  the 
house!" 

"I  got  something."  The  old  man  put  his 
hands  over  the  heads  of  the  children  in  silent 
benediction.  "All  come  in  by  me.  I  got  sent  me 
a  box  of  cake." 

"Cake!"  The  children  cried,  catching  at  the 
kind  hands  and  snuggling  about  the  shabby  coat. 

"Yes.  Cake  and  nuts  and  raisins  and  even  a 
bottle  of  wine." 

The  children  leaped  and  danced  around  him 
in  their  wild  burst  of  joy. 

"Cake  and  wine  —  a  box — to  you?  Have 
the  charities  gone  crazy?"  Hanneh  Breineh's 
eyes  sparkled  with  light  and  laughter. 

"No  —  no,"  Shmendrik  explained  hastily. 
"Not  from  the  charities  —  from  a  friend  —  for 
the  holidays." 

238 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

Shmendrik  nodded  invitingly  to  Sophie,  who 
was  standing  in  the  door  of  her  room.  "The 
roomerkeh  will  also  give  a  taste  with  us  our 
party?" 

"Sure  will  she!"  Hanneh  Breineh  took  So- 
phie by  the  arm.  "Who'll  say  no  in  this  black 
life  to  cake  and  wine?" 

Young  throats  burst  into  shrill  cries:  "Cake 
and  wine  — •  wine  and  cake  —  raisins  and  nuts 
—  nuts  and  raisins ! "  The  words  rose  in  a  tri- 
umphant chorus.  The  children  leaped  and 
danced  in  time  to  their  chant,  almost  carrying 
the  old  man  bodily  into  his  room  in  the  wildness 
of  their  joy. 

The  contagion  of  this  sudden  hilarity  erased 
from  Sophie's  mind  the  last  thought  of  work 
and  she  found  herself  seated  with  the  others 
on  the  cobbler's  bench. 

From  under  his  cot  the  old  man  drew  forth 
a  wooden  box.  Lifting  the  cover  he  held  up  be- 
fore wondering  eyes  a  large  frosted  cake  em- 
bedded in  raisins  and  nuts. 

Amid  the  shouts  of  glee  Shmendrik  now 
waved  aloft  a  large  bottle  of  grape-juice. 
239 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

The  children  could  contain  themselves  no 
longer  and  dashed  forward. 

"Shah— shah!  Wait  only!"  He  gently  halted 
their  onrush  and  waved  them  back  to  their  seats. 

"The  glasses  for  the  wine!"  Hanneh  Breineh 
rushed  about  hither  and  thither  in  happy  con- 
fusion. From  the  sink,  the  shelf,  the  window- 
sill,  she  gathered  cracked  glasses,  cups  without 
handles  —  anything  that  would  hold  even  a 
few  drops  of  the  yellow  wine. 

Sacrificial  solemnity  filled  the  basement  as 
the  children  breathlessly  watched  Shmendrik 
cut  the  precious  cake.  Mouths  —  even  eyes  — • 
watered  with  the  intensity  of  their  emotion. 

With  almost  religious  fervor  Hanneh  Breineh 
poured  the  grape-juice  into  the  glasses  held  in 
the  trembling  hands  of  the  children.  So  over- 
whelming was  the  occasion  that  none  dared  to 
taste  till  the  ritual  was  completed.  The  sus- 
pense was  agonizing  as  one  and  all  waited  for 
Shmendrik's  signal. 

"Hanneh  Breineh  —  you  drink  from  my  Sab- 
bath wine-glass!" 

Hanneh  Breineh  clinked  glasses  with  Schmen- 
240 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

drik.  "Long  years  on  you  —  long  years  on  us 
all!"  Then  she  turned  to  Sophie,  clinked  glasses 
once  more.  "May  you  yet  marry  yourself  from 
our  basement  to  a  millionaire!"  Then  she 
lifted  the  glass  to  her  lips. 

The  spell  was  broken.  With  a  yell  of  triumph 
the  children  gobbled  the  cake  in  huge  mouth- 
fuls  and  sucked  the  golden  liquid.  All  the  tra- 
ditions of  wealth  and  joy  that  ever  sparkled 
from  the  bubbles  of  champagne  smiled  at 
Hanneh  Breineh  from  her  glass  of  California 
grape-juice. 

"Ach!"  she  sighed.  "How  good  it  is  to  forget 
your  troubles,  and  only  those  that's  got  trou- 
bles have  the  chance  to  forget  them!" 

She  sipped  the  grape-juice  leisurely,  thrilled 
into  ecstacy  with  each  lingering  drop.  "How  it 
laughs  yet  in  me,  the  life,  the  minute  I  turn  my 
head  from  my  worries ! " 

With  growing  wonder  in  her  eyes,  Sophie 
watched  Hanneh  Breineh.  This  ragged  wreck 
of  a  woman  —  how  passionately  she  clung 
to  every  atom  of  life!  Hungrily,  she  burned 
through  the  depths  of  every  experience.  How 
241 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

she  flared  against  wrongs  —  and  how  every 
tiny  spark  of  pleasure  blazed  into  joy! 

Within  a  half-hour  this  woman  had  touched 
the  whole  range  of  human  emotions,  from  bit- 
terest agony  to  dancing  joy.  The  terrible  de- 
spair at  the  onrush  of  her  starving  children  when 
she  cried  out,  "O  that  I  should  only  bury 
you  all  in  one  day!"  And  now  the  leaping  light 
of  the  words:  "How  it  laughs  yet  in  me,  the 
life,  the  minute  I  turn  my  head  from  my  wor- 
ries." 

"Ach,  if  I  could  only  write  like  Hanneh 
Breineh  talks!"  thought  Sophie.  "Her  words 
dance  with  a  thousand  colors.  Like  a  rainbow 
it  flows  from  her  lips."  Sentences  from  her  own 
essays  marched  before  her,  stiff  and  wooden. 
How  clumsy,  how  unreal,  were  her  most  la- 
bored phrases  compared  to  Hanneh  Bremen's 
spontaneity.  Fascinated,  she  listened  to  Hanneh 
Breineh,  drinking  her  words  as  a  thirst-perish- 
ing man  drinks  water.  Every  bubbling  phrase 
filled  her  with  a  drunken  rapture  to  create. 

"Up  till  now  I  was  only  trying  to  write  from 
my  head.  It  was  n't  real  —  it  was  n't  life.  Han- 
242 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

neh  Breineh  is  real.  Hanneh  Breineh  is  life." 
"  Ach !  What  do  the  rich  people  got  but  dried- 
up  dollars?  Pfui  on  them  and  their  money!" 
Hanneh  Breineh  held  up  her  glass  to  be  refilled. 
"Let  me  only  win  a  fortune  on  the  lotteree  and 
move  myself  in  my  own  bought  house.  Let  me 
only  have  my  first  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank 
and  I  '11  lift  up  my  head  like  a  person  and  tell 
the  charities  to  eat  their  own  cornmeal.  I  '11  get 
myself  an  automobile  like  the  kind  rich  ladies 
and  ride  up  to  their  houses  on  Fifth  Avenue  and 
feed  them  only  once  on  the  eating  they  like  so 
good  for  me  and  my  children." 

With  a  smile  of  benediction  Shmendrik  re- 
filled the  glasses  and  cut  for  each  of  his  guests 
another  slice  of  cake.  Then  came  the  handful  of 
nuts  and  raisins. 

As  the  children  were  scurrying  about  for 
hammers  and  iron  lasts  with  which  to  crack 
their  nuts,  the  basement  door  creaked.  Unan- 
nounced, a  woman  entered — the  "friendly 
visitor"  of  the  charities.  Her  look  of  aw- 
ful amazement  swept  the  group  of  merry- 
makers. 

241 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Mr.  Shmendrik!  —  Hanneh  Breineh!"  In- 
dignation seethed  in  her  voice.  "What's  this? 
A  feast — a  birthday?" 

Gasps  —  bewildered  glances  —  a  struggle  for 
utterance! 

"I  came  to  make  my  monthly  visit — evi- 
dently I'm  not  needed." 

Shmendrik  faced  the  accusing  eyes  of  the 
"friendly  visitor."  "Holiday  eating  .  .  ." 

"Oh  —  I'm  glad  you're  so  prosperous." 

Before  any  one  had  gained  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  explain  things,  the  door  had  clanked. 
The  "friendly  visitor"  had  vanished. 

"Pfui!"  Hanneh  Breineh  snatched  up  her 
glass  and  drained  its  contents.  "What  will  she 
do  now?  Will  we  get  no  more  dry  bread  from 
the  charities  because  once  we  ate  cake?" 

"What  for  did  she  come?"  asked  Sophie. 

"To  see  that  we  don't  over-eat  ourselves!" 
returned  Hanneh  Breineh.  "She's  a  *  friendly 
visitor'!  She  learns  us  how  to  cook  cornmeal. 
By  pictures  and  lectures  she  shows  us  how  the 
poor  people  should  live  without  meat,  without 
milk,  without  butter,  and  without  eggs.  Al- 
244 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

ways  it's  on  the  end  of  my  tongue  to  ask  her, 
'You  learned  us  to  do  without  so  much,  why 
can't  you  yet  learn  us  how  to  eat  without  eat- 
ing?" 

The  children  seized  the  last  crumbs  of  cake 
that  Shmendrik  handed  them  and  rushed  for 
the  street. 

"What  a  killing  look  was  on  her  face,"  said 
Sophie.  "Could  n't  she  be  a  little  glad  for  your 
gladness?" 

"Charity  ladies  —  gladness?"  The  joy  of  the 
grape-wine  still  rippled  in  Hanneh  Breineh's 
laughter.  "For  poor  people  is  only  cornmeal. 
Ten  cents  a  day —  to  feed  my  children!" 

Still  in  her  rollicking  mood  Hanneh  Breineh 
picked  up  the  baby  and  tossed  it  like  a  Bac- 
chante. "Could  you  be  happy  a  lot  with  ten 
cents  in  your  stomach?  Ten  cents  —  half  a  can 
of  condensed  milk  —  then  fill  yourself  the  rest 
with  water!  .  .  .  Maybe  yet  feed  you  with  all 
water  and  save  the  ten-cent  pieces  to  buy  you  a 
carriage  like  the  Fifth  Avenue  babies !  .  .  . " 

The  soft  sound  of  a  limousine  purred  through 
the  area  grating  and  two  well-fed  figures  in  seal- 
245 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

skin  coats,  led  by  the  "friendly  visitor,"  ap- 
peared at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Bernstein,  you  can  see  for  yourself." 
The  "friendly  visitor"  pointed  to  the  table. 

The  merry  group  shrank  back.  It  was  as  if  a 
gust  of  icy  wind  had  swept  all  the  joy  and 
laughter  from  the  basement. 

"You  are  charged  with  intent  to  deceive  and 
obtain  assistance  by  dishonest  means,"  said 
Mr.  Bernstein. 

"Dishonest?"  Shmendrik  paled. 

Sophie's  throat  strained  with  passionate  pro- 
test, but  no  words  came  to  her  release. 

"A  friend  — •  a  friend"  —  stammered  Shmen- 
drik— •  "sent  me  the  holiday  eating." 

The  superintendent  of  the  Social  Better- 
ment Society  faced  him  accusingly.  "You  told 
us  that  you  had  no  friends  when  you  applied 
to  us  for  assistance." 

"My  friend  —  he  knew  me  in  my  better 
time."  Shmendrik  flushed  painfully.  "I  was 
once  a  scholar  — •  respected.  I  wanted  by  this 
one  friend  to  hold  myself  like  I  was." 

Mr.  Bernstein  had  taken  from  the  bookshelf 
246 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

a  number  of  letters,  glanced  through  them 
rapidly  and  handed  them  one  by  one  to  the 
deferential  superintendent. 

Shmendrik  clutched  at  his  heart  in  an  agony 
of  humiliation.  Suddenly  his  bent  body  straight- 
ened. His  eyes  dilated.  "My  letters  —  my  life 
—  you  dare?" 

"Of  course  we  dare!"  The  superintendent 
returned  Shmendrik's  livid  gaze,  made  bold  by 
the  confidence  that  what  he  was  doing  was  the 
only  scientific  method  of  administering  philan- 
thropy. "These  dollars,  so  generously  given, 
must  go  to  those  most  worthy.  ...  I  find  in 
these  letters  references  to  gifts  of  fruit  and 
other  luxuries  you  did  not  report  at  our  office." 

"He  never  kept  nothing  for  himself!"  Han- 
neh  Breineh  broke  in  defensively.  "He  gave  it 
all  for  the  children." 

Ignoring  the  interruption  Mr.  Bernstein 
turned  to  the  "friendly  visitor."  "I'm  glad 
you  brought  my  attention  to  this  case.  It's  but 
one  of  the  many  impositions  on  our  charity  .  .  . 
Come  .  .  ." 

"Kossacks!  Pogromschiks!"   Sophie's  rage 
247 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

broke  at  last.  "You  call  yourselves  Americans? 
You  dare  call  yourselves  Jews?  You  bosses  of 
the  poor!  This  man  Shmendrik,  whose  house 
you  broke  into,  whom  you  made  to  shame 
like  a  beggar  — •  he  is  the  one  Jew  from  whom 
the  Jews  can  be  proud !  He  gives  all  -he  is  — • 
all  he  has  —  as  God  gives.  He  is  charity. 

"But  you  • —  you  are  the  greed  —  the  shame 
of  the  Jews!  All-right-niks • — 'fat  bellies  in  fur 
coats!  What  do  you  give  from  yourselves?  You 
may  eat  and  bust  eating!  Nothing  you  give  till 
you've  stuffed  yourselves  so  full  that  your 
hearts  are  dead!" 

The  door  closed  in  her  face.  Her  wrath  fell  on 
indifferent  backs  as  the  visitors  mounted  the 
steps  to  the  street. 

Shmendrik  groped  blindly  for  the  Bible.  In  a 
low,  quavering  voice,  he  began  the  chant  of  the 
oppressed — the  wail  of  the  downtrodden.  "I 
am  afraid,  and  a  trembling  taketh  hold  of  my 
flesh.  Wherefore  do  the  wicked  live,  become  old, 
yea,  mighty  in  power?" 

Hanneh  Breineh  and  the  children  drew  close 
around  the  old  man.  They  were  weeping  — 
248 


MY  OWN  PEOPLE 

unconscious  of  their  weeping  —  deep-buried 
memories  roused  by  the  music,  the  age-old 
music  of  the  Hebrew  race. 

Through  the  grating  Sophie  saw  the  limou- 
sine pass.  The  chant  flowed  on:  "Their  houses 
are  safe  from  fear;  neither  is  the  rod  of  God 
upon  them." 

Silently  Sophie  stole  back  to  her  room.  She 
flung  herself  on  the  cot,  pressed  her  fingers  to 
her  burning  eyeballs.  For  a  long  time  she  lay 
rigid,  clenched  —  listening  to  the  drumming  of 
her  heart  like  the  sea  against  rock  barriers. 
Presently  the  barriers  burst.  Something  in  her 
began  pouring  itself  out.  She  felt  for  her  pen- 
cil —  paper  —  and  began  to  write.  Whether 
she  reached  out  to  God  or  man  she  knew  not, 
but  she  wrote  on  and  on  all  through  that  night. 

The  gray  light  entering  her  grated  window 
told  her  that  beyond  was  dawn.  Sophie  looked 
up:  "Ach!  At  last  it  writes  itself  in  me!"  she 
whispered  triumphantly.  "It's  not  me  —  it's 
their  cries  —  my  own  people  —  crying  in  me! 
Hanneh  Breineh,  Shmendrik,  they  will  not  be 
stilled  in  me,  till  all  America  stops  to  listen." 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

PART  I 

EVERY  breath  I  drew  was  a  breath  of  fear, 
every  shadow  a  stifling  shock,  every  footfall 
struck  on  my  heart  like  the  heavy  boot  of  the 
Cossack. 

On  a  low  stool  in  the  middle  of  the  only  room 
in  our  mud  hut  sat  my  father  — "his  red  beard 
falling  over  the  Book  of  Isaiah  open  before  him. 
On  the  tile  stove,  on  the  benches  that  were  our 
beds,  even  on  the  earthen  floor,  sat  the  neigh- 
bors' children,  learning  from  him  the  ancient 
poetry  of  the  Hebrew  race. 

As  he  chanted,  the  children  repeated: 

"The  voice  of  him  that  crieth  in  the  wilderness, 
Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord. 
Make  straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God 

"Every  valley  shall  be  exalted, 
And  every  mountain  and  hill  shall  be  made  loir, 
And  the  crooked  shall  be  made  straight, 
And  the  rough  places  plain. 

"And  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shall  be  revealed, 
And  all  flesh  shall  see  it  together." 
250 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

Undisturbed  by  the  swaying  and  chanting  of 
teacher  and  pupils,  old  Kakah,  our  speckled 
hen,  with  her  brood  of  chicks,  strutted  and 
pecked  at  the  potato-peelings  which  fell  from 
my  mother's  lap,  as  she  prepared  our  noon 
meal. 

I  stood  at  the  window  watching  the  road,  lest 
the  Cossack  come  upon  us  unawares  to  enforce 
the  ukaz  of  the^Czar,  which  would  tear  the  bread 
from  our  mouths :  "No  Chadir  [Hebrew  school] 
shall  be  held  in  a  room  used  for  cooking  and 
sleeping." 

With  one  eye  I  watched  ravenously  my 
mother  cutting  chunks  of  black  bread.  At  last 
the  potatoes  were  ready.  She  poured  them  out 
of  the  iron  pot  into  a  wooden  bowl  and  placed 
them  in  the  center  of  the  table. 

Instantly  the  swaying  and  chanting  ceased, 
the  children  rushed  forward.  The  fear  of  the 
Cossacks  was  swept  away  from  my  heart  by 
the  fear  that  the  children  would  get  my  potato. 

The  sentry  deserted  his  post.  With  a  shout  of 
joy  I  seized  my  portion  and  bit  a  huge  mouth- 
ful of  mealy  delight. 

251 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  driven  open  by 
the  blow  of  an  iron  heel.  The  Cossack's  whip 
swished  through  the  air.  Screaming,  we  scat- 
tered. 

The  children  ran  out — our  livelihood  gone 
with  them. 

"Oi  weh,"  wailed  my  mother,  clutching  her 
breast,  "is  there  a  God  over  us  —  and  sees  all 
this?" 

With  grief-glazed  eyes  my  father  muttered  a 
broken  prayer  as  the  Cossack  thundered  the 
ukaz:  "A  thousand  rubles  fine  or  a  year  in 
prison  if  you  are  ever  found  again  teaching 
children  where  you're  eating  and  sleeping." 

"Gottuniu!"  pleaded  my  mother,  "would 
you  tear  the  last  skin  from  our  bones?  Where 
else  can  we  be  eating  and  sleeping?  Or  should 
we  keep  chadir  in  the  middle  of  the  road?  Have 
we  houses  with  separate  rooms  like  the  Czar?" 

Ignoring  my  .mother's  entreaties  the  Cossack 
strode  out  of  the  hut.  My  father  sank  into  a 
chair,  his  head  bowed  in  the  silent  grief  of  the 
helpless. 

"God  from  the  world"  —  my  mother  wrung 
252 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

her  hands — •  "is  there  no  end  to  our  troubles? 
When  will  the  earth  cover  me  and  my  woes?" 

I  watched  the  Cossack  disappear  down  the 
road.  All  at  once  I  saw  the  whole  village  run- 
ning toward  us.  I  dragged  my  mother  to  the 
window  to  see  the  approaching  crowd. 

"Gewalt!  What  more  is  falling  over  our 
heads?"  she  cried  in  alarm. 

Masheh  Mindel,  the  water-carrier's  wife, 
headed  a  wild  procession.  The  baker,  the 
butcher,  the  shoemaker,  the  tailor,  the  goat- 
herd, the  workers  of  the  fields,  with  their  wives 
and  children,  pressed  toward  us  through  a  cloud 
of  dust. 

Masheh  Mindel,  almost  fainting,  fell  in  front 
of  the  doorway.  "A  letter  from  America!"  she 
gasped. 

"A  letter  from  America!"  echoed  the  crowd, 
as  they  snatched  the  letter  from  her  and  thrust 
it  into  my  father's  hands. 

"Read!  Read!"  they  shouted  tumultuously. 

My  father  looked  through  the  letter,  his  lips 
uttering  no  sound.  In  breathless  suspense  the 
crowd  gazed  at  him.  Their  eyes  shone  with 
253  .-  - 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

wonder  and  reverence  for  the  only  man  in  the 
village  who  could  read. 

Masheh  Mindel  crouched  at  his  feet,  her  neck 
stretched  toward  him  to  catch  each  precioui 
word  of  the  letter. 

"To  my  worthy  wife,  Masheh  Mindel,  and 
to  my  loving  son,  Susha  Feifel,  and  to  my 
precious  darling  daughter,  the  apple  of  my  eye, 
the  pride  of  my  life,  Tzipkeleh! 

"Long  years  and  good  luck  on  you!  May  the 
blessings  from  heaven  fall  over  your  beloved 
heads  and  save  you  from  all  harm! 

"  First  I  come  to  tell  you  that  I  am  well  and 
in  good  health.  May  I  hear  the  same  from  you. 

"Secondly,  I  am  telling  you  that  my  sun  is 
beginning  to  shine  in  America.  I  am  becoming 
a  person  —  a  business  man. 

"I  have  for  myself  a  stand  in  the  most 
crowded  part  of  America,  where  people  are  as 
thick  as  flies  and  every  day  is  like  market-day 
by  a  fair.  My  business  is  from  bananas  and  ap- 
ples. The  day  begins  with  my  pushcart  full  of 
fruit,  and  the  day  never  ends  before  I  count  up 
at  least  #2.00  profit  —  that  means  four  rubles. 
254 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 
Stand    before    your    eyes  ...  I  ...  Gedalyeh 
Mindel,  four  rubles  a  day,  twenty-four  rubles  a 
week!" 

"Gedalyeh  Mindel,  the  water-carrier,  twen- 
ty-four roubles  a  week  ..."  The  words  leaped 
like  fire  in  the  air. 

We  gazed  at  his  wife,  Masheh  Mindel  —  a 
dried-out  bone  of  a  woman. 

"Masheh  Mindel,  with  a  husband  in  Amer- 
ica —  Masheh  Mindel,  the  wife  of  a  man  earn- 
ing twenty-four  rubles  a  week!" 

We  looked  at  her  with  new  reverence.  Al- 
ready she  was  a  being  from  another  world.  The 
dead,  sunken  eyes  became  alive  with  light.  The 
worry  for  bread  that  had  tightened  the  skin  of 
her  cheek-bones  was  gone.  The  sudden  surge  of 
happiness, filled  out  her  features,  flushing  her 
face  as  with  wine. 

The  two  starved  children  clinging  to  her 
skirts,  dazed  with  excitement,  only  dimly  real- 
ized their  good  fortune  by  the  envious  glances 
of  the  others. 

"Thirdly,  I  come  to  tell  you,"  the  letter 
255 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

went  on,  "white  bread  and  meat  I  eat  every 
day  just  like  the  millionaires. 

"Fourthly,  I  have  to  tell  you  that  I  am  no 
more  Gedalyeh  Mindel  —  Mister  Mindel  they 
call  me  in  America. 

"Fifthly,  Masheh  Mindel  and  my  dear  chil- 
dren, in  America  there  are  no  mud  huts  where 
cows  and  chickens  and  people  live  all  together. 
I  have  for  myself  a  separate  room  with  a  closed 
door,  and  before  any  one  can  come  to  me,  I  can 
give  a  say,  'Come  in,'  or  'Stay  out,'  like  a  king 
in  a  palace. 

"Lastly,  my  darling  family  and  people  of  the 
Village  of  Sukovoly,  there  is  no  Czar  in  Amer- 


My  father  paused;  the  hush  was  stifling.  No 
Czar — no  Czar  in  America!  Even  the  little 
babies  repeated  the  chant:  "No  Czar  in  Amer- 
ica!" 

"In  America  they  ask  everybody  who  should 
be  the  President,  and  I,  Gedalyeh  Mindel,  when 
I  take  out  my  Citizens  papers,  will  have  as 
256 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 
much  to  say  who  shall  be  the  next  President  in 
America,  as  Mr.  Rockefeller  the  greatest  mil- 
lionaire. 

"Fifty  rubles  I  am  sending  you  for  your 
ship-ticket  to  America.  And  may  all  Jews  who 
suffer  in  Goluth  from  ukazes  and  pogroms  live 
yet  to  lift  up  their  heads  like  me,  Gedalyeh 
Mindel,  in  America." 

Fifty  rubles!  A  ship-ticket  to  America!  That 
so  much  good  luck  should  fall  on  one  head!  A 
savage  envy  bit  me.  Gloomy  darts  from  nar- 
rowed eyes  stabbed  Masheh  Mindel. 

Why  should  not  we  too  have  a  chance  to  get 
away  from  this  dark  land  ?  Has  not  every  heart 
the  same  hunger  for  America  ?  The  same  long- 
ing to  live  and  laugh  and  breathe  like  a  free 
human  being?  America  is  for  all.  Why  should 
only  Masheh  Mindel  and  her  children  have  a 
chance  to  the  new  world? 

Murmuring  and  gesticulating  the  crowd  dis- 
persed. 

Each  one  knew  every  one  else's  thought: 
How  to  get  to  America.  What  could  they 
257 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

pawn?  From  where  could  they  borrow  for  a 
ship-ticket? 

Silently  we  followed  my  father  back  into  the 
hut  from  which  the  Cossack  had  driven  us  a 
while  before. 

We  children  looked  from  mother  to  father 
and  from  father  to  mother. 

"Gottuniu!  The  Czar  himself  is  pushing  us 
to  America  by  this  last  ukaz."  My  mother's 
face  lighted  up  the  hut  like  a  lamp. 

"Meshugeneh  Yidini!"  admonished  my  fa- 
ther. "Always  your  head  in  the  air.  What  — 
where — 'America?  With  what  money?  Can 
dead  people  lift  themselves  up  to  dance?" 

"Dance?"  The  samovar  and  the  brass  pots 
rang  and  reechoed  with  my  mother's  laughter. 
"I  could  dance  myself  over  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  to  America." 

In  amazed  delight  at  my  mother's  joy  we 
children  rippled  and  chuckled  with  her. 

My  father  paced  the  rpom  —  his  face  dark 
with  dread  for  the  morrow. 

"Empty  hands  —  empty  pockets  —  yet  it 
dreams  itself  in  you  America/' 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

"Who  is  poor  who  has  hopes  on  America?" 
flaunted  my  mother. 

"Sell  my  red  quilted  petticoat  that  grand- 
mother left  for  my  dowry,"  I  urged  in  excitement. 

"Sell  the  feather  beds,  sell  the  samovar," 
chorused  the  children. 

"Sure  we  can  sell  everything — -the  goat 
and  all  the  winter  things,"  added  my  mother; 
"it  must  be  always  summer  in  America." 

I  flung  my  arms  around  my  brother  and  he 
seized  Bessie  by  the  curls,  and  we  danced  about 
the  room  crazy  with  joy. 

"Beggars!"  laughed  my  mother,  "why  are 
you  so  happy  with  yourselves?  How  will  you  go 
to  America  without  a  shirt  on  your  back  — 
without  shoes  on  your  feet?" 

But  we  ran  out  into  the  road,  shouting  and 
singing:  "We'll  sell  everything  we  got  —  we'll 
go  to  America." 

"White  bread  and  meat  we'll  eat  every  day 
— •  in  America!  In  America!" 

That  very  evening  we  fetched  Berel  Zalman, 
the  usurer,  and  showed  him  all  our  treasures, 
piled  up  in  the  middle  of  the  hut. 
259 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Look,  all  these  fine  feather  beds,  Berel  Zal- 
man."  urged  my  mother;  "this  grand  fur  coat 
came  from  Nijny  itself.  My  grandfather 
bought  it  at  the  fair." 

I  held  up  my  red  quilted  petticoat,  the  su- 
preme sacrifice  of  my  ten-year-old  life. 

Even  my  father  shyly  pushed  forward  the 
samovar.  "  It  can  hold  enough  tea  for  the  whole 
village." 

"Only  a  hundred  rubles  for]  them  all," 
pleaded  my  mother;  "only  enough  to  lift  us  to 
America.  Only  one  hundred  little  rubles." 

"A  hundred  rubles?  Pfui!"  sniffed  the  pawn- 
broker. "Forty  is  overpaid.  Not  even  thirty  is 
it  worth." 

But  coaxing  and  cajoling  my  mother  got  a 
hundred  rubles  out  of  him. 

Steerage  —  dirty  bundles  —  foul  odors  — 
seasick  humanity  — •  but  I  saw  and  heard 
nothing  of  the  foulness  and  ugliness  around 
me.  I  floated  in  showers  of  sunshine;  visions 
upon  visions  of  the  new  world  opened  before 
me. 

260 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

From  lips  to  lips  flowed  the  golden  legend  of 
the  golden  country: 

"  In  America  you  can  say  what  you  feel  — 
you  can  voice  your  thoughts  in  the  open  streets 
without  fear  of  a  Cossack." 

"In  America  is  a  home  for  everybody.  The 
land  is  your  land.  Not  like  in  Russia  where  you 
feel  yourself  a  stranger  in  the  village  where  you 
were  born  and  raised  —  the  village  in  which 
your  father  and  grandfather  lie  buried." 

"Everybody  is  with  everybody  alike,  in 
America.  Christians  and  Jews  are  brothers  to- 
gether." 

"An  end  to  the  worry  for  bread.  An  end  to 
the  fear  of  the  bosses  over  you.  Everybody  can 
do  what  he  wants  with  his  life  in  America." 

"There  are  no  high  or  low  in  America.  Even 
the  President  holds  hands  with  Gedalyeh  Min- 
del." 

"Plenty  for  all.  Learning  flows  free  like  milk 
and  honey." 

"Learning  flows  free." 
The  words  painted  pictures  in  my  mind.  I 
261 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

saw  before  me  free  schools,  free  colleges,  free 
libraries,  where  I  could  learn  and  learn  and 
keep  on  learning. 

In  our  village  was  a  school,  but  only  for 
Christian  children.  In  the  schools  of  America  I  'd 
lift  up  my  head  and  laugh  and  dance  —  a  child 
with  other  children.  Like  a  bird  in  the  air,  from 
sky  to  sky,  from  star  to  star,  I  'd  soar  and  soar. 

"Land!  Land!"  came  the  joyous  shout. 

"America!  We're  in  America!"  cried  my 
mother,  almost  smothering  us  in  her  rapture. 

All  crowded  and  pushed  on  deck.  They 
strained  and  stretched  to  get  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  "golden  country,"  lifting  their  children 
on  their  shoulders  that  they  might  see  beyond 
them. 

Men  fell  on  their  knees  to  pray.  Women 
hugged  their  babies  and  wept.  Children  danced. 
Strangers  embraced  and  kissed  like  old  friends. 
Old  men  and  women  had  in  their  eyes  a  look  of 
young  people  in  love. 

Age-old  visions  sang  themselves  in  me  — 
songs  of  freedom  of  an  oppressed  people. 

America !  —  America ! 
262 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

PART  II 

BETWEEN  buildings  that  loomed  like  moun- 
tains, we  struggled  with  our  bundles,  spreading 
around  us  the  smell  of  the  steerage.  Up  Broad- 
way, under  the  bridge,  and  through  the  swarm- 
ing streets  of  the  ghetto,  we  followed  Gedalyeh 
Mindel. 

I  looked  about  the  narrow  streets  of  squeezed- 
in  stores  and  houses,  ragged  clothes,  dirty 
bedding  oozing  out  of  the  windows,  ash-cans 
and  garbage-cans  cluttering  the  side-walks.  A 
vague  sadness  pressed  down  my  heart — the 
first  doubt  of  America. 

"Where  are  the  green  fields  and  open  spaces 
in  America?"  cried  my  heart.  "Where  is  the 
golden  country  of  my  dreams  ? " 

A  loneliness  for  the  fragrant  silence  of  the 
woods  that  lay  beyond  our  mud  hut  welled  up 
in  my  heart,  a  longing  for  the  soft,  responsive 
earth  of  our  village  streets.  All  about  me  was 
the  hardness  of  brick  and  stone,  the  stinking 
smells  of  crowded  poverty. 

"Here's  your  house  with  separate  rooms  like 
263 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

in  a  palace."  Gedalyeh  Mindel  flung  open  the 
door  of  a  dingy,  airless  flat. 

"Oi  weh!"  my  mother  cried  in  dismay. 
"Where's  the  sunshine  in  America?" 

She  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at 
the  blank  wall  of  the  next  house.  "Gottuniu! 
Like  in  a  grave  so  dark  .  .  ." 

"It  ain't  so  dark,  it's  only  a  little  shady." 
Gedalyeh  Mindel  lighted  the  gas.  "Look  only" 
— •  he  pointed  with  pride  to  the  dim  gaslight. 
"No  candles,  no  kerosene  lamps  in  America, 
you  turn  on  a  screw  and  put  to  it  a  match  and 
you  got  it  light  like  with  sunshine." 

Again  the  shadow  fell  over  me,  again  the 
doubt  of  America ! 

In  America  were  rooms  without  sunlight, 
rooms  to  sleep  in,  to  eat  in,  to  cook  in,  but 
without  sunshine.  And  Gedalyeh  Mindel  was 
happy.  Could  I  be  satisfied  with  just  a  place  to 
sleep  and  eat  in,  and  a  door  to  shut  people  out 
— •  to  take  the  place  of  sunlight?  Or  would  I  al- 
ways need  the  sunlight  to  be  happy? 

And  where  was  there  a  place  in  America  for 
me  to  play?  I  looked  out  into  the  alley  below 
264 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

and  saw  pale-faced  children  scrambling  in  the 
gutter.  "Where  is  America?"  cried  my  heart. 

My  eyes  were  shutting  themselves  with 
sleep.  Blindly,  I  felt  for  the  buttons  on  my 
dress,  and  buttoning  I  sank  back  in  sleep  again 

—  the  deadweight  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 
"Heart  of  mine! "  my  mother's  voice  moaned 

above  me.  "  Father  is  already  gone  an  hour.  You 
know  how  they'll  squeeze  from  you  a  nickel  for 
every  minute  you're  late.  Quick  only!" 

I  seized  my  bread  and  herring  and  tumbled 
down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street.  I  ate 
running,  blindly  pressing  through  the  hurrying 
throngs  of  workers  —  my  haste  and  fear  chok- 
ing each  mouthful. 

I  felt  a  strangling  in  my  throat  as  I  neared 
the  sweatshop  prison;  all  my  nerves  screwed  to- 
gether into  iron  hardness  to  endure  the  day's 
torture. 

For  an  instant  I  hesitated  as  I  faced  the 
grated  window  of  the  old  dilapidated  building 

—  dirt  and  decay  cried  out  from  every  crum- 
bling brick. 

265 


.  HUNGRY  HEARTS 

In  the  maw  of  the  shop,  raging  around  me  the 
roar  and  the  clatter,  the  clatter  and  the  roar, 
the  merciless  grind  of  the  pounding  machines. 
Half  maddened,  half  deadened,  I  struggled  to 
think,  to  feel,  to  remember — 'what  am  I  — 
who  am  I  —  why  was  I  here? 

I  struggled  in  vain  —  bewildered  and  lost  in 
a  whirlpool  of  noise. 

"America  —  America  —  where  was  Ame.- 
ica?"  it  cried  in  my  heart. 

The  factory  whistle  — •  the  slowing-down  of 
the  machines  —  the  shout  of  release  hailing  the 
noon  hour. 

I  woke  as  from  a  tense  nightmare  —  a  weary- 
waking  to  pain. 

In  the  dark  chaos  of  my  brain  reason  began 
to  dawn.  In  my  stifled  heart  feelings  began  to 
pulse.  The  wound  of  my  wasted  life  began  to 
throb  and  ache.  My  childhood  choked  with 
drudgery  —  must  my  youth  too  die  —  unlived  ? 

The  odor  of  herring  and  garlic  —  the  raven- 
ous munching  of  food — laughter  and  loud,  vul- 
gar jokes.  Was  it  only  I  who  was  so  wretched? 
I  looked  at  those  around  me.  Were  they  happy 
266 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

or  only  insensible  to  their  slavery?  How  could 
they  laugh  and  joke?  Why  were  they  not  torn 
with  rebellion  against  this  galling  grind  —  the 
crushing,  deadening  movements  of  the  body, 
where  only  hands  live  and  hearts  and  brains 
must  die? 

A  touch  on  my  shoulder.  I  looked  up.  It  was     ' 
Yetta  Solomon  from  the  machine  next  to  mine. 

"Here's  your  tea." 

I  stared  at  her,  half  hearing. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  eat  nothing?" 

"Oi  weh!  Yetta!  I  can't  stand  it!"  The  cry  j 
broke  from  me.  "I  did  n't  come  to  America  to  j 
turn  into  a  machine.  I  came  to  America  to  1 
make  from  myself  a  person.  Does  America 
want  only  my  hands  —  only  the  strength  of 
my  body  —  not  my  heart  —  not  my  feelings 
—  my  thoughts?" 

"Our  heads  ain't  smart  enough,"  said  Yetta, 
practically.  "We  ain't  been  to  school  like  the 
American-born." 

"What  for  did  I  come  to  America  but  to  go 
to  school  —  to  learn  — to  think  — to  make 
something  beautiful  from  my  life  .  .  ." 
267 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Sh-sh!  Sh-sh!  The  boss  —  the  boss!"  came 
the  warning  whisper. 

A  sudden  hush  fell  over  the  shop  as  the  boss, 
entered.  He  raised  his  hand. 

Breathless  silence. 

The  hard,  red  face  with  pig's  eyes  held  u§ 
under  its  sickening  spell.  Again  I  saw  the  Cos- 
sack and  heard  him  thunder  the  ukaz. 

Prepared  for  disaster,  the  girls  paled  as  they 
cast  at  each  other  sidelong,  frightened  glances. 

"Hands,"  he  addressed  us,  fingering  the  gold 
watch-chain  that  spread  across  his  fat  belly, 
"it's  slack  in  the  other  trades  and  I  can  get 
plenty  girls  begging  themselves  to  work  for  half 
what  you're  getting  —  only  I  ain't  a  skinner.  I 
always  give  my  hands  a  show  to  earn  their 
bread.  From  now  on,  I  '11  give  you  fifty  cents  a 
dozen  shirts  instead  of  seventy-five,  but  I'll 
give  you  night-work,  so  you  need  n't  lose  noth- 
ing." And  he  was  gone. 

The  stillness  of  death  filled  the  shop.  Each 
one  felt  the  heart  of  the  other  bleed  with  her 
own  helplessness. 

A  sudden  sound  broke  the  silence.  A  woman 
268 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 
sobbed   chokingly.   It  was   Balah  Rifkin,   a 
widow  with  three  children. 

"Oi  weh!"  She  tore  at  her  scrawny  neck. 
"The  blood-sucker  -  -  the  thief!  How  will  I 
give  them  to  eat  —  my  babies  —  my  babies  — 
my  hungry  little  lambs!" 

"Why  do  we  let  him  choke  us?" 

"Twenty-five  cents  less  on  a  dozen — 'how 
will  we  be  able  to  live?" 

"He  tears  the  last  skin  from  our  bones!" 

"Why  did  n't  nobody  speak  up  to  him?" 

"Tell  him  he  could  n't  crush  us  down  to 
worse  than  we  had  in  Russia?" 

"Can  we  help  ourselves?  Our  life  lies  in  his 
hands." 

Something  in  me  forced  me  forward.  Rage  at 
the  bitter  greed  tore  me.  Our  desperate  help- 
lessness drove  me  to  strength. 

"I'll  go  to  the  boss!"  I  cried,  my  nerves 
quivering  with  fierce  excitement.  "I'll  tell  him 
Balah  Rifkin  has  three  hungry  mouths  to  feed." 

Pale,  hungry  faces  thrust  themselves  toward 
me,  thin,  knotted  hands  reached  out,  starved 
bodies  pressed  close  about  me. 
269 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Long  years  on  you!"  cried  Balah  Rifkin, 
drying  her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her  shawl 

"Tell  him  about  my  old  father  and  me,  his 
only  bread-giver,"  came  from  Bessie  Sopolsky, 
a  gaunt-faced  girl  with  a  hacking  cough. 

"And  I  got  no  father  or  mother  and  four  of 
them  younger  than  me  hanging  on  my  neck." 
Jennie  Feist's  beautiful  young  face  was  already 
scarred  with  the  gray  worries  of  age. 

America,  as  the  oppressed  of  all  lands  have 
dreamed  America  to  be,  and  America  as  it  is, 
flashed  before  me' — a  banner  of  fire!  Behind 
me  I  felt  masses  pressing  —  thousands  of  im- 
migrants —  thousands  upon  thousands  crushed 
by  injustice,  lifted  me  as  on  wings. 

I  entered  the  boss's  office  without  a  shadow 
of  fear.  I  was  not  I  —  the  wrongs  of  my  people 
burned  through  me  till  I  felt  the  very  flesh  of 
my  body  a  living  flame  of  rebellion. 

I  faced  the  boss. 

"We  can't  stand  it!"  I  cried.  "Even  as  it  is 
we  're  hungry.  Fifty  cents  a  dozen  would  starve 
us.  Can  you,  a  Jew,  tear  the  bread  from  another 
Jew's  mouth?" 

270 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

"You,  fresh  mouth,  you!  Who  are  you  to 
learn  me  my  business?" 

"Were  n't  you  yourself  once  a  machine  slave 
—  your  life  in  the  hands  of  your  boss?" 

"You  —  loaferin — 'money  for  nothing  you 
want!  The  minute  they  begin  to  talk  English 
they  get  flies  in  their  nose.  ...  A  black  year  on 
you  —  trouble-maker!  I  '11  have  no  smart  heads 
in  my  shop!  Such  freshness!  Out  you  get ... 
out  from  my  shop!" 

Stunned  and  hopeless,  the  wings  of  my  cour- 
age broken,  I  groped  my  way  back  to  them  — 
back  to  the  eager,  waiting  faces  — •  back  to  the 
crushed  hearts  aching  with  mine. 

As  I  opened  the  door  they  read  our  defeat  in 
my  face. 

"Girls!"  I  held  out  my  hands.  "He's  fired 
me." 

My  voice  died  in  the  silence.  Not  a  girl 
stirred.  Their  heads  only  bent  closer  over  their 
machines. 

"Here,  you!  Get  yourself  out  of  here!"  The 
boss  thundered  at  me.  "Bessie  Sopolsky  and 
you,  Balah  Rifkin,  take  out  her  machine  into 
271 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

the  hall.  ...  I  want  no  big-mouthed  Ameri- 
canerins  in  my  shop." 

Bessie  Sopolsky  and  Balah  Rifkin,  their  eyes 
black  with  tragedy,  carried  out  my  machine. 

Not  a  hand  was  held  out  to  me,  not  a  face 
met  mine.  I  felt  them  shrink  from  me  as  I 
passed  them  on  my  way  out. 

In  the  street  I  found  I  was  crying.  The  new 
hope  that  had  flowed  in  me  so  strong  bled  out 
of  my  veins.  A  moment  before,  our  togetherness 
had  made  me  believe  us  so  strong  —  and  now  I 
saw  each  alone  —  crushed  —  broken.  What 
were  they  all  but  crawling  worms,  servile  grub- 
bers for  bread  ? 

I  wept  not  so  much  because  the  girls  had  de- 
serted me,  but  because  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
how  mean,  how  vile,  were  the  creatures  with 
whom  I  had  to  work.  How  the  fear  for  bread 
had  dehumanized  their  last  shred  of  humanity! 
I  felt  I  had  not  been  working  among  human  be- 
ings, but  in  a  jungle  of  savages  who  had  to  eat 
one  another  alive  in  order  to  survive. 

And  then,  in  the  very  bitterness  of  my  re- 
sentment, the  hardness  broke  in  me.  I  saw  the 
272 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

girls  through  their  own  eyes  as  if  I  were  inside 
of  them.  What  else  could  they  have  done?  Was 
not  an  immediate  crust  of  bread  for  Balah 
Rifkin's  children  more  urgent  than  truth  — 
more  vital  than  honor? 

Could  it  be  that  they  ever  had  dreamed  of 
America  as  I  had  dreamed?  Had  their  faith  in 
America  wholly  died  in  them?  Could  my  faith 
be  killed  as  theirs  had  been? 

Gasping  from  running,  Yetta  Solomon  flung 
her  arms  around  me. 

"You  golden  heart!  I  sneaked  myself  out 
from  the  shop  —  only  to  tell  you  I'll  come  to 
see  you  to-night.  I  'd  give  the  blood  from  under 
my  nails  for  you  —  only  I  got  to  run  back  —  I 
got  to  hold  my  job  —  my  mother  —  " 

I  hardly  saw  or  heard  her  — my  senses 
stunned  with  my  defeat.  I  walked  on  in  a  blind 
daZe  _  feeling  that  any  moment  I  would  drop  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  from  sheer  exhaustion. 

Every  hope  I  had  clung  to  — every  human 
stay  —  every  reality  was  torn  from  under  me. 
I  sank  in  bottomless  blackness.  I  had  only  one 
wish  left  —  to  die. 

273 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Was  it  then  only  a  dream  — •  a  mirage  of  the 
hungry-hearted  people  in  the  desert  lands  of 
oppression  —  this  age-old  faith  in  America  — 
the  beloved,  the  prayed-for  "golden  country"? 

Had  the  starved  villagers  of  Sukovoly  lifted 
above  their  sorrows  a  mere  rainbow  vision  that 
led  them  —  where — •  where?  To  the  stifling 
submission  of  the  sweatshop  or  the  desperation 
of  the  streets! 

*  "O  God!  What  is  there  beyond  this  hell?" 
my  soul  cried  in  me.  "Why  can't  I  make  a 
quick  end  to  myself?" 

A  thousand  voices  within  me  and  about  me 
answered: 

"My  faith  is  dead,  but  in  my  blood  their 
faith  still  clamors  and  aches  for  fulfillment  — 
dead  generations  whose  faith  though  beaten  back 
still  presses  on  —  a  resistless,  deathless  force! 

"In  this  America  that  crushes  and  kills  me, 
their  spirit  drives  me  on  • — •  to  struggle  —  to 
suffer  • —  but  never  to  submit." 

In  my  desperate  darkness  their  lost  lives 
loomed  —  a  living  flame  of  light.  Again  I  saw 
the  mob  of  dusty  villagers  crowding  around 
274 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

my  father  as  he  read  the  letter  from  America  — 
their  eager  faces  thrust  out  — •  their  eyes  blaz- 
ing with  the  same  hope,  the  same  age-old  faith 
that  drove  me  on  — 

A  sudden  crash  against  my  back.  Dizzy  with 
pain  I  fell  —  then  all  was  darkness  and  quiet. 

I  opened  my  eyes.  A  white-clad  figure  bent 
over  me.  Had  I  died?  Was  I  in  the  heaven  of 
the  new  world  —  in  America? 

My  eyes  closed  again.  A  misty  happiness 
filled  my  being. 

"Learning  flows  free  like  milk  and  honey," 
it  dreamed  itself  in  me. 

I  was  in  my  heaven  —  in  the  schools  of 
America  —  in  open,  sunny  fields  —  a  child 
with  other  children.  Our  lesson-books  were 
singing  birds  and  whispering  trees  —  chanting 
brooks  and  beckoning  skies.  We  breathed  in 
learning  and  wisdom  as  naturally  as  flowers 
breathe  in  sunlight. 

After  our  lessons  were  over,  we  all  joined 
hands  skipping  about  like  a  picture  of  dancing 
fairies  I  had  once  seen  in  a  shop-window. 
275 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

I  was  so  full  of  the  joy  of  togetherness  —  the 
great  wonder  of  the  new  world;  it  pressed  on 
my  heart  like  sorrow.  Slowly,  I  stole  away  from 
the  other  children  into  silent  solitude,  wrestling 
and  praying  to  give  out  what  surged  in  me  into 
some  form  of  beauty.  And  out  of  my  struggle 
to  shape  my  thoughts  beautifully,  a  great  song 
filled  the  world. 

"Soon  she's  all  right  to  come  back  to  the 
shop  —  yes,  nurse?"  The  voice  of  Yetta  Sol- 
omon broke  into  my  dreaming. 

Wearily  I  opened  my  eyes.  I  saw  I  was  still 
on  earth. 

Yetta's  broad,  generous  face  smiled  anxiously 
at  me.  "Lucky  yet  the  car  that  run  you  over 
did  n't  break  your  hands  or  your  feet.  So  long 
you  got  yet  good  hands  you'll  soon  be  back  by 
the  machine." 

"Machine?"  I  shuddered.  "I  can't  go  back 
to  the  shop  again.  I  got  so  used  to  sunlight 
and  quiet  in  the  hospital  I'll  not  be  able  to 
stand  the  hell  again." 

"Shah!  — Shah!"  soothed  Yetta.  "Why 
don't  you  learn  yourself  to  take  life  like  it  is? 
276 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

What's  got  to  be,  got  to  be.  In  Russia,  you 
could  hope  to  run  away  from  your  troubles  to 
America.  But  from  America  where  can  you  go  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  sighed.  "In  the  blackest  days  of 
Russia,  there  was  always  the  hope  from  Amer- 
ica. In  Russia  we  had  only  a  mud  hut;  not 
enough  to  eat  and  always  the  fear  from  the 
Cossack,  but  still  we  managed  to  look  up  to 
the  sky,  to  dream,  to  think  of  the  new  world 
where  we'll  have  a  chance  to  be  people,  not 
slaves." 

"What's  the  use  to  think  so  much?  It  only 
eats  up  the  flesh  from  your  bones.  Better 
rest  .  .  ." 

"How  can  I  rest  when  my  choked-in  thoughts 
tear  me  to  pieces?  I  need  school  more  than  a 
starving  man  needs  bread." 

Yetta's  eyes  brooded  over  me.  Suddenly  a 
light  broke.  "I  got  an  idea.  There's  a  new 
school  for  greenhorns  where  they  learn  them 
anything  they  want  .  .  ." 

"What  —  where?"  I  raised  myself  quickly, 
hot  with  eagerness.  "How  do  you  know  from 
it  —  tell  me  only  —  quick  —  since  when —  " 
277 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"The  girl  next  door  by  my  house  —  she 
used  to  work  by  cigars  —  and  now  she  learns 
there." 

"What  does  she  learn?" 

"Don't  get  yourself  so  excited.  Your  eyes 
are  jumping  out  from  your  head." 

I  fell  back  weakly:  "Oi  weh!  Tell  me!"  I 
begged. 

"All  I  know  is  that  she  likes  what  she  learns 
better  than  rolling  cigars.  And  it 's  called '  School 
for  Immigrant  Girls. ' >: 

"Your  time  is  up.  Another  visitor  is  waiting 
to  come  in,"  said  the  nurse. 

As  Yetta  walked  out,  my  mother,  with  the 
shawl  over  her  head,  rushed  in  and  fell  on  my 
bed  kissing  me. 

"Oi  weh!  Oi  weh!  Half  my  life  is  out  from 
me  from  fright.  How  did  all  happen?" 

"Don't  worry  yourself  so.  I'm  nearly  well 
already  and  will  go  back  to  work  soon." 

"Talk  not  work.  Get  only  a  little  flesh  on 
your  bones.  They  say  they  send  from  the  hos- 
pital people  to  the  country.  Maybe  they'll  send 
you." 

278 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

"But  how  will  you  live  without  my  wages?" 

"Davy  is  already  peddling  with  papers  and 
Bessie  is  selling  lolly-pops  after  school  in  the 
park.  Yesterday  she  brought  home  already 
twenty-eight  cents." 

For  all  her  efforts  to  be  cheerful,  I  looked  at 
her  pinched  face  and  wondered  if  she  had  eaten 
that  day. 

Released  from  the  hospital,  I  started  home. 
As  I  neared  Allen  Street,  the  terror  of  the  dark 
rooms  swept  over  me.  "No  —  no — I  can't 
yet  go  back  to  the  darkness  and  the  stinking 
smells,"  I  said  to  myself.  "So  long  they're 
getting  along  without  my  wages,  let  them 
think  I  went  to  the  country  and  let  me  try  out 
that  school  for  immigrants  that  Yetta  told  me 
about." 

So  I  went  to  the  Immigrant  School. 

A  tall,  gracious  woman  received  me,  not  an 
employee,  but  a  benefactress. 

The  love  that  had  rushed  from  my  heart  to- 
ward the  Statue  in  the  Bay,  rushed  out  to  Mrs. 
Olney.  She  seemed  to  me  the  living  spirit  of 
America.  All  that  I  had  ever  dreamed  America 
279 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

to  be  shone  to  me  out  of  the  kindness  of  her 
brown  eyes.  She  would  save  me  from  the  sordid- 
ness  that  was  crushing  me  I  felt  the  moment  I 
looked  at  her.  Sympathy  and  understanding 
seemed  to  breathe  from  her  serene  presence. 

I  longed  to  open  my  heart  to  her,  but  I  was 
so  excited  I  did  n't  know  where  to  begin. 

"I'm  crazy  to  learn!"  I  gasped  breathlessly, 
and  then  the  very  pressure  of  the  things  I  had 
to  say  choked  me. 

An  encouraging  smile  warmed  the  fine 
features. 

"What  trade  would  you  like  to  learn  —  sew- 
ing-machine operating?" 

"Sewing-machine  operating?"  I  cried.  "Oi 
weh!"  I  shuddered.  "Only  the  thought  'ma- 
chine' kills  me.  Even  when  I  only  look  on 
clothes,  it  weeps  in  me  when  I  think  how  the 
seams  from  everything  people  wear  is  sweated 
in  the  shop." 

"Well,  then"  —  putting  a  kind  hand  on  my 

shoulder — "how  would  you  like  to  learn  to 

cook?  There's  a  great  need  for  trained  servants 

and  you  'd  get  good  wages  and  a  pleasant  home." 

280 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

"Me  —  a  servant?"  I  flung  back  her  hand 
"Did  I  come  to  America  to  make  from  myself 
a  cook?" 

Mrs.  Olney  stood  abashed  a  moment.  "Well, 
my  dear,"  she  said  deliberately,  "what  would 
you  like  to  take  up?" 

"I  got  ideas  how  to  make  America  better, 
only  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it  out.  Ain't 
there  a  place  I  can  learn?" 

A  startled  woman  stared  at  me.  For  a  mo- 
ment not  a  word  came.  Then  she  proceeded 
with  the  same  kind  smile.  "It's  nice  of  you  to 
want  to  help  America,  but  I  think  the  best  way 
would  be  for  you  to  learn  a  trade.  That's  what 
this  school  is  for,  to  help  girls  find  themselves, 
and  the  best  way  to  do  is  to  learn  something 
useful." 

"Ain't  thoughts  useful?  Does  America  want 
only  the  work  from  my  body,  my  hands?  Ain't 
it  thoughts  that  turn  over  the  world?" 

"Ah!  But  we  don't  want  to  turn  over  the 
world."  Her  voice  cooled. 

"But  there's  got  to  be  a  change  in  America!" 
I  cried.  "Us  immigrants  want  to  be  people  — 
281 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

not  *  hands'  —  not  slaves  of  the  belly!  And 
it's  the  chance  to  think  out  thoughts  that 
makes  people." 

"My  child,  thought  requires  leisure.  The 
time  will  come  for  that.  First  you  must  learn 
to  earn  a  good  living." 

"Did  I  come  to  America  for  a  living?" 

"What  did  you  come  for?" 

"I  came  to  give  out  all  the  fine  things  that 
was  choked  in  me  in  Russia.  I  came  to  help 
America  make  the  new  world.  .  .  .  They  said, 
in  America  I  could  open  up  my  heart  and  fly 
free  in  the  air  —  to  sing  —  to  dance  —  to 
live  —  to  love.  .  .  .  Here  I  got  all  those  grand 
things  in  me,  and  America  won't  let  me  give 
nothing." 

"Perhaps  you  made  a  mistake  in  coming  to 
this  country.  Your  own  land  might  appreciate 
you  more."  A  quick  glance  took  me  in  from  head 
to  foot.  "I'm  afraid  that  you  have  come  to  the 
wrong  place.  We  only  teach  trades  here." 

She  turned  to  her  papers  and  spoke  over  her 
shoulder.  "I  think  you  will  have  to  go  else- 
where if  you  want  to  set  the  world  on  firc.n 
282 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

PART  III 

BLIND  passion  swayed  me  as  I  walked  out  of 
the  Immigrant  School,  not  knowing  where  I  was 
going,  not  caring.  One  moment  I  was  swept 
with  the  fury  of  indignation,  the  next  moment 
bent  under  the  burden  of  despair.  But  out  of 
this  surging  conflict  one  thought — 'One  truth 
gradually  grew  clearer  and  clearer  to  me:  With- 
out comprehension,  the  immigrant  would  for- 
ever remain  shut  out  —  a  stranger  in  America. 
Until  America  can  release  the  heart  as  well  as 
train  the  hand  of  the  immigrant,  he  would  for- 
ever remain  driven  back  upon  himself,  corroded 
by  the  very  richness  of  the  unused  gifts  within 
his  soul. 

I  longed  for  a  friend  —  a  real  American 
friend  —  some  one  different  from  Mrs.  Olney, 
some  one  who  would  understand  this  vague, 
blind  hunger  for  release  that  consumed  me. 
But  how,  where  could  I  find  such  a  friend? 

As  I  neared  the  house  we  lived  in,  I  paused 
terror-stricken.  On  the  sidewalk  stood  a  jum- 
bled   pile   of    ragged    house-furnishings   that 
283 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

looked  familiar  —  chairs,  dishes,  kitchen  pans. 
Amidst  bundles  of  bedding  and  broken  furni- 
ture stood  my  mother.  Oblivious  of  the  curious 
crowd,  she  lit  the  Sabbath  candles  and  prayed 
over  them. 

In  a  flash  I  understood  it  all.  Because  of  the 
loss  of  my  wages  while  I  was  in  the  hospital, 
we  had  been  evicted  for  unpaid  rent.  It  was 
Sabbath  eve.  My  father  was  in  the  synagogue 
praying  and  my  mother,  defiant  of  disgrace, 
had  gone  on  with  the  ceremony  of  the  Sabbath. 

All  the  romance  of  our  race  was  in  the  light 
of  those  Sabbath  candles.  Homeless,  abandoned 
by  God  and  man,  yet  in  the  very  desolation  of 
the  streets  my  mother's  faith  burned  —  a  chal- 
lenge to  all  America. 

"Mammeh!"  I  cried,  pushing  through  the 
crowd.  Bessie  and  Dave  darted  forward.  In  a 
moment  the  four  of  us  stood  clinging  to  one 
another,  amid  the  ruins  of  our  broken  home. 

A  neighbor  invited  us  into  her  house  for  sup- 
per. No  sooner  had  we  sat  down  at  the  table 
than  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  a 

284 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

square-figured  young  woman  entered,  asking 
to  see  my  mother. 

"I  am  from  the  Social  Betterment  Society," 
she  said.  "I  hear  you've  been  dispossessed. 
What's  the  trouble  here?" 

"Oi  weh!  My  bitter  heart!"  I  yet  see  before 
me  the  anguish  of  my  mother's  face  as  she 
turned  her  head  away  from  the  charity  lady. 

My  father's  eyes  sank  to  the  floor.  I  could 
feel  him  shrink  in  upon  himself  like  one  con- 
demned. 

The  bite  of  food  turned  to  gall  in  my  throat. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  America  ?  Where 
were  you  born  ? "  She  questioned  by  rote,  tak- 
ing out  pad  and  pencil. 

The  silence  of  the  room  was  terrible.  The 
woman  who  had  invited  us  for  supper  slunk  into 
the  bedroom,  unable  to  bear  our  shame. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  America?" 
repeated  the  charity  lady. 
•    Choked  silence. 

"Is  there  any  one  here  who  can  speak?"  She 
translated  her  question  into  Yiddish. 

"A  black  year  on  Gedalyeh  Mindel,  the  liar!" 
285 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

my  mother  burst  out  at  last.  "Why  did  we 
leave  our  home  ?  We  were  among  our  own.  We 
were  people  there.  But  what  are  we  here?  No- 
bodies —  nobodies !  Cats  and  dogs  at  home 
ain't  thrown  in  the  street.  Such  things  could 
only  happen  in  America  —  the  land  without  a 
heart  —  the  land  without  a  God!" 

"For  goodness'  sakes!  Is  there  any  one  here 
intelligent  enough  to  answer  a  straight  ques- 
tion?" The  charity  lady  turned  with  disgusted 
impatience  from  my  mother  to  me.  "Can  you 
tell  me  how  long  you  have  been  in  this  country? 
Where  were  you  born?" 

"None  of  your  business!"  ".  struck  out 
blindly,  not  aware  of  what  I  was  saying. 

"Why  so  bold?  We  are  only  trying  to  help 
you  and  you  are  so  resentful." 

"To  the  Devil  with  your  help!  I'm  sick  no 
longer.  I  can  take  care  of  my  mother  —  with- 
out your  charity!" 

The  next  day  I  went  back  to  the  shop  —  to 

the  same  long  hours  —  to  the  same  low  wages 

— •  to  the  same  pig-eyed,  fat-bellied  boss.  But 

I  was  no  longer  the  same.  For  the  first  time  in 

286 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

my  life  I  bent  to  the  inevitable.  I  accepted  my 
defeat.  But  something  in  me,  stronger  than  I, 
rose  triumphant  even  in  my  surrender. 

"Yes,  I  must  submit  to  the  shop,"  I  thought. 
"But  the  shop  shall  not  crush  me.  Only  my 
body  I  must  sell  into  slavery  —  not  my  heart  — 
not  my  soul. 

"To  any  one  who  sees  me  from  without,  I 
am  only  a  dirt-eating  worm,  a  grub  in  the 
ground,  but  I  know  that  above  this  dark  earth- 
place  in  which  I  am  sunk  is  the  green  grass  — 
and  beyond  the  green  grass,  the  sun  and  sky. 
Alone,  unaide^  I  must  dig  my  way  up  to  the 
light!" 

Lunch-hour  at  the  factory.  My  book  of 
Shelley's  poems  before  me  and  I  was  soon  mil- 
lions of  miles  beyond  the  raucous  voices  of  the 
hungry  eaters. 

I  "Did  you  already  hear  the  last  news?" 
Yetta  tore  my  book  from  me  in  her  excitement. 

"What  news?"  I  scowled  at  her  for  waking 
me  from  my  dreams. 

"We're  going  to  have  electricity  by  the  ma- 
287 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

chines.  And  the  forelady  says  that  the  new  boss 
will  give  us  ten  cents  more  on  a  dozen  waists!" 

"God  from  the  world!  How  did  it  happen  — 
electricity  —  better  pay?"  I  asked  in  amaze- 
ment. For  that  was  the  first  I  had  heard  of  im- 
proved conditions  of  work. 

But  little  by  little,  step  by  step,  the  sanita- 
tion improved.  Open  windows,  swept  floors, 
clean  wash-rooms,  individual  drinking-cups  in- 
troduced a  new  era  of  factory  hygiene.  Our 
shop  was  caught  up  in  the  general  movement 
for  social  betterment  that  stirred  the  country. 

It  was  not  all  done  in  a  day.  Weary  years  of 
,  struggle  passed  before  the  workers  emerged 
from  the  each-for-himself  existence  into  an  or- 
ganized togetherness  for  mutual  improvement. 

At  last,  with  the  shortened  hours  of  work,  I 
had  enough  vitality  left  at  the  end  of  the  day  to 
join  the  night-school.  Again  my  dream  flamed. 
Again  America  beckoned.  In  the  school  there 
would  be  education  —  air,  life  for  my  cramped- 
in  spirit.  I  would  learn  to  form  the  thoughts 
that  surged  formless  in  me.  I  would  find  the 
teacher  that  would  make  me  articulate. 
288 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

Shelley  was  English  literature. 

So  I  joined  the  literature  class.  The  course 
began  with  the  "De  Coverley  Papers."  Filled 
with  insatiate  thirst,  I  drank  in  every  line  with 
the  feeling  that  any  minute  I  would  get  to  the 
fountain-heart  of  revelation. 

Night  after  night  I  read  with  tireless  devo-   \ 
tion.  But  of  what?  The  manners  and  customs 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  of  people  two  hun- 
dred years  dead. 

One  evening  after  a  month's  attendance, 
when  the  class  had  dwindled  from  fifty  to  four 
and  the  teacher  began  scolding  us  who  were  left 
for  those  who  were  absent,  my  bitterness  broke. 

"Do  you  know  why  all  the  girls  are  dropping 
away  from  the  class?  It's  because  they  have 
too  much  sense  to  waste  themselves  on  the  'De 
Coverley  Papers.'  Us  four  girls  are  four  fools. 
We  could  learn  more  in  the  streets.  It's  dirty 
and  wrong,  but  it 's  life.  What  are  the  'De  Cover- 
ley  Papers'?  Dry  dust  fit  for  the  ash  can." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  tell  the  board  of 
education  your  ideas  of  the  standard  classics," 
she  scoffed,  white  with  rage. 
289 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

"Gassics?  If  all  the  classics  are  as  dead  as 
the  'De  Coverley  Papers,'  I'd  rather  read  the 
ads  in  the  papers.  How  can  I  learn  from  this 
old  man  that's  dead  two  hundred  years  how  to 
live  my  life?" 

That  was  the  first  of  many  schools  I  had 
tried.  And  they  were  all  the  same.  A  dull  course 
of  study  and  the  lifeless,  tired  teachers  —  no 
more  interested  in  their  pupils  than  in  the 
wooden  benches  before  them  —  chilled  all  my 
faith  in  the  American  schools. 

More  and  more  the  all-consuming  need  for  a 
friend  possessed  me.  In  the  street,  in  the  cars, 
in  the  subways,  I  was  always  seeking,  cease- 
lessly seeking,  for  eyes,  a  face,  the  flash  of  a 
smile  that  would  be  light  in  my  darkness. 

I  felt  sometimes  that  I  was  only  burning  out 
my  heart  for  a  shadow,  an  echo,  a  wild  dream. 
But  I  could  n't  help  it.  Nothing  was  real  to  me 
but  my  hope  of  finding  a  friend. 

One  day  my  sister  Bessie  came  home  much 

I  excited   over   her   new    high-school    teacher. 
"Miss  Latham  makes  it  so  interesting!"  she 
exclaimed.  "She  stops  in  the  middle  of  the  les- 
290 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

son  and  tells  us  things.  She  ain't  like  a  teacher. 
She 's  like  a  real  person." 

At  supper  next  evening,  Bessie  related  more 
wonder  stories  of  her  beloved  teacher.  "She's 
so  different!  She's  friends  with  us.  ...  To-day, 
when  she  gave  us  out  our  composition,  Mamie 
Cohen  asked  from  what  book  we  should  read 
up  and  she  said,  'Just  take  it  out  of  your  heart 
and  say  it.' " 

"Just  take  it  out  of  your  heart  and  say  it." 
The  simple  words  lingered  in  my  mind,  stir- 
ring a  whirl  of  hidden  thoughts  and  feelings.  It 
seemed  as  if  they  had  been  said  directly  to  me. 

A  few  days  later  Bessie  ran  in  from  school,  her 
cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  dancing  with  excitement. 
"Give  a  look  at  the  new  poem  teacher  gave  me 
to  learn!"  It  was  a  quotation  from  Kipling: 

"Then  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us, 
And  only  the  Master  shall  blame, 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money, 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  fame; 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working, 
And  each  in  his  separate  Star, 
Shall  draw  the  thing  as  he  sees  it 
For  the  God  of  things  as  they  are." 
291 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

Only  a  few  brief  lines,  but  in  their  music  the 
pulses  of  my  being  leaped  into  life.  And  so  it 
was  from  day  to  day.  Miss  Latham's  sayings 
kept  turning  themselves  in  my  mind  like  a  lin- 
gering melody  that  could  not  be  shaken  off. 
Something  irresistible  seemed  to  draw  me  to 
her.  She  beckoned  to  me  almost  as  strongly  as 
America  had  on  the  way  over  in  the  boat. 

I  wondered,  "Should  I  go  to  see  her  and  talk 
myself  out  from  my  heart  to  her? 

"Meshugeneh!  Where  —  what?  How  come 
you  to  her?  What  will  you  say  for  your  reason? 

"What's  the  difference  what  I'll  say!  I  only- 
want  tosgive  a  look  on  her  .  .  ." 

And  so  I  kept  on  restlessly  debating.  Should 
I  follow  my  heart  and  go  to  her,  or  should  I 
have  a  little  sense? 

Finally  the  desire  to  see  her  became  so  strong 
that  I  could  no  longer  reason  about  it.  I  left  the 
factory  in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  seek  her  out. 

All  the  way  to  her  school  I  prayed:  "God  — 
God!  If  I  could  only  find  one  human  soul  that 
cared  .  .  ." 

I  found  her  bending  over  her  desk.  Her  hair 
292 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

was  gray,  but  she  did  not  look  tired  like  the 
other  teachers.  She  was  correcting  papers  and 
was  absorbed  in  her  task.  I  watched  her,  not 
daring  to  interrupt.  Presently  she  threw  back 
her  head  and  gave  a  little  laugh. 

Then  she  saw  me.  "Why,  how  do  you  do?" 
She  rose.  "Come  and  sit  down." 

I  felt  she  was  as  glad  to  see  me  as  though  she 
had  expected  me. 

"  I  feel  you  can  help  me,"  I  groped  toward  her. 

"I  hope  I  can."  She  grasped  my  outstretched 
hands  and  led  me  to  a  chair  which  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  me. 

A  strange  gladness  filled  me. 

"Bessie  showed  me  the  poem  you  told  her  to 
learn  ..."  I  paused  bewildered. 

"Yes?"  Her  friendly  eyes  urged  me  to  speak. 

"From  what  Bessie  told  me  I  felt  I  could  talk 
myself  out  to  you  what's  bothering  me."  I 
stopped  again. 

She  leaned  forward  with  an  inviting  interest. 
"Go  on!  Tell  me  all." 

"I'm  an  immigrant  many  years  already 
here,  but  I'm  still  seeking  America.  My  dream 
293 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

America  is  more  far  from  me  than  it  was  in  the 
old  country.  Always  something  comes  between 
the  immigrant  and  the  American,"  I  went  on 
blindly.  "They  see  only  his  skin,  his  outside  — 
not  what's  in  his  heart.  They  don't  care  if  he 
has  a  heart.  ...  I  wanted  to  find  some  one  that 
would  look  on  me  — •  myself  ...  I  thought 
you  'd  know  yourself  on  a  person  first  off." 

Abashed  at  my  boldness  I  lowered  my  eyes 
to  the  floor. 

"Do  go  on  ...  I  want  to  hear." 

With  renewed  courage  I  continued  my  con- 
fessional. 

"Life  is  too  big  for  me.  I'm  lost  in  this 
each-for-himself  world.  I  feel  shut  out  from 
everything  that's  going  on.  ...  I'm  always 
fighting — 'fighting  —  with  myself  and  every- 
thing around  me.  ...  I  hate  when  I  want  to 
love  and  I  make  people  hate  me  when  I  want 
to  make  them  love  me." 

She  gave  me  a  quick  nod.  "  I  know  —  I  know 
what  you  mean.  Go  on." 

"I  don't  know  what  is  with  me  the  mat- 
ter. I'm  so  choked.  .  .  .  Sundays  and  holidays 
294 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 
when  the  other  girls  go  out  to  enjoy  themselves, 
I  walk  around  by  myself —  thinking  —  think- 
ing. .  .  .  My  thoughts  tear  in  me  and  I  can't 
tell  them  to  no  one!  I  want  to  do  something 
with  my  life  and  I  don't  know  what." 

"I'm  glad  you  came,"  she  said.  And  after  a 
pause,  "You  can  help  me." 

"Help  you?"  I  cried.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  an  American  suggested  that  I  could  help 
her. 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  have  always  wanted  to  know 
more  of  that  mysterious  vibrant  life  —  the  im- 
migrant. You  can  help  me  know  my  girls." 

The  repression  of  centuries  seemed  to  rush 
out  of  my  heart.  I  told  her  everything  —  of 
the  mud  hut  in  Sukovoly  where  I  was  born,  of 
the  Czar's  pogroms,  of  the  constant  fear  of  the 
Cossack,  of  Gedalyeh  Mindel's  letter  and  of 
our  hopes  in  coming  to  America. 

After  I  had  talked  myself  out,  I  felt  suddenly 
ashamed  for  having  exposed  so  much,  and  I 
cried  out  to  her:  "Do  you  think  like  the  others 
that  I'm  all  wrapped  up  in  self?" 

For  some  minutes  she  studied  me,  and  her 
295 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

serenity  seemed  to  project  itself  into  me.  And 
then  she  said,  as  if  she  too  were  groping,  "No  — 
no  —  but  too  intense." 

"I  hate  to  be  so  all  the  time  intense.  But  how 
can  I  help  it?  Everything  always  drives  me 
back  in  myself.  How  can  I  get  myself  out  into 
the  free  air?" 

"Don't  fight  yourself."  Her  calm,  gray  eyes 
penetrated  to  the  very  soul  in  me.  "You  are 
burning  up  too  much  vitality.  .  .  . 

"You  know  some  of  us,"  she  went  on  — 
"not  many,  unfortunately  —  have  a  sort  of  di- 
vine fire  which  if  it  does  not  find  expression 
turns  into  smoke.  This  egoism  and  self-cen- 
teredness  which  troubles  you  is  only  the  smoke 
of  repression." 

She  put  her  hand  over  mine.  "You  have  had 
no  one  to  talk  to  —  no  one  to  share  your 
thoughts." 

I  marveled  at  the  simplicity  with  which  she 
explained  me  to  myself.  I  could  n't  speak.  I 
just  looked  at  her. 

"But  now,"  she  said,  gently,  "you  have 
some  one.  Come  to  me  whenever  you  wish." 
296 


HOW  I  FOUND  AMERICA 

"I  have  a  friend,"  it  sang  itself  in  me.  "I 
Aave  a  friend." 

"And  you  are  a  born  American?"  I  asked. 
There  was  none  of  that  sure,  all-right  look  of 
the  Americans  about  her. 

"Yes,  indeed!  My  mother,  like  so  many 
mothers,"-— and  her  eyebrows  lifted  humor- 
ously whimsical,  —  "claims  we're  descendants 
of  the  Pilgrim  fathers.  And  that  one  of  our 
lineal  ancestors  came  over  in  the  Mayflower." 

"For  all  your  mother's  pride  in  the  Pilgrim 
fathers,  you  yourself  are  as  plain  from  the 
heart  as  an  immigrant." 

"Were  n't  the  Pilgrim  fathers  immigrants 
two  hundred  years  ago?" 

She  took  from  her  desk  a  book  called  "Our 
America,"  by  Waldo  Frank,  and  read  to  me: 
"We  go  forth  all  to  seek  America.  And  in  the 
seeking  we  create  her.  In  the  quality  of  our 
search  shall  be  the  nature  of  the  America  that 
we  create." 

"Ach,  friend!  Your  words  are  life  to  me!  You 
make  it  light  for  my  eyes!" 

She  opened  her  arms  to  me  and  breathlessly  I 
297 


HUNGRY  HEARTS 

felt  myself  drawn  to  her.  Bonds  seemed  to 
burst.  A  suffusion  of  light  filled  my  being. 
Great  choirings  lifted  me  in  space. 

I  walked  out  unseeingly. 

All  the  way  home  the  words  she  read  flamed 
before  me:  "We  go  forth  all  to  seek  America. 
And  in  the  seeking  we  create  her.  In  the  quality 
of  our  search  shall  be  the  nature  of  the  America 
that  we  create." 

So  all  those  lonely  years  of  seeking  and  pray- 
ing were  not  in  vain!  How  glad  I  was  that  I 
had  not  stopped  at  the  husk  —  a  good  job  — • 
a  good  living  —  but  pressed  on,  through  the 
barriers  of  materialism. 

Through  my  inarticulate  groping  and  reach- 
ing-out  I  had  found  the  soul  —  the  spirit  —  of 
America ! 


THE  END 


JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE 

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THE  RIVER'S  END 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  adventures  in  the  Far  Northland. 
NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky"  torn 
between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 
BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant  part 
he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony,  and  his 
battle  with  Captain  Plum. 
THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

'  A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery  of  the  North. 
THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold  "  for  a  woman. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

"  The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilderness 
is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 
THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventur*  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 
'    FiUed  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. 
BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

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ELFANQR  H.  PORTER'S  NOVELS 

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JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY  !  MONEY  ! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposu 
tions  of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum- 
mer on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE*  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  human  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  won- 
derful talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

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ETHEL    M.    DELL'S    NOVELS 

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THE  LAMP  IN  THE  DESERT 

The  scene  of  this  splendid  story  is  laid  in  India  and 
tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
"  a  hundredth  chance." 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "bad  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
woman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  know  the 
true  from  the  false. 
THE  SAFETY  CURTAIN 

A  very  vivid  love  story  of  India.  The  volume  also 
contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

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BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

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SEVENTEEN.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.  Its  humor  is  irre- 
sistible and  reminiscent  of  the  time  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu- 
morous, tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  G.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re- 
volts against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love  of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  La  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  hi  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

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KATHLEEN   NORRIS*  STORIES 

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SISTERS.  Frontispiece  by  Frank  Street. 

The  California  Redwoods  furnish  the  background  for  this 
beautiful  story  of  sisterly  devotion  and  sacrifice. 

POOR.  DEAR.  MARGARET  KIRBY. 
Frontispiece  by  George  Gibbs. 

A  collection  of  delightful  stories,  including  "Bridging  the 
Yea^"  and  "The  Tide-Marsh."  This  story  is  now  shown  in 
moving  pictures. 

JOSSELYN'S  WIFE.  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

The  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  fought  a  bitter  fight  for 
happiness  and  love. 

MARTIE,  THE  UNCONQUERED. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 
The  triumph  of  a  dauntless  spirit  over  adverse  conditions. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 
Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

An  interesting  story  of  divorce  and  the  problems  that  come 
with  a  second  marriage. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE. 
Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

A  sympathetic  portrayal  of  the  quest  of  a  normal  girl,  obscure 
and  lonely,  for  the  happiness  of  life. 
SATURDAY'S  CHILD.    Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes. 

Can  a  girl,  born  in  rather  sordid  conditions,  lift  herself  through 
sheer  determination  to  the   better  things  for  which  her  soul 
hungered  ? 
MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

A  story  of  the  big  mother  heart  that  beats  in  the  background 
of  every  girl's  life,  and  some  dreams  which  came  true. 

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THE  NOVELS  OF 
GRACE    LIVINGSTON    HILL     LUTZ 

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THE  BEST  MAN 

Through  a  strange  series  of  adventures  a  young  man  finds 
himself  propelled  up  tbs  aisle  of  a  church  and  married  to  a 
strange  girl. 

A  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

On  her  way  West  the  heroine  steps  off  by  mistake  at  a  lonelj 
nratertank  into  a  maze  of  thrilling  events. 

THE  ENCHANTED  BARN 

Every  member  of  the  family  will  enjoy  this  spirited  chronicle 
t»f  a  young  girl' s  resourcefulness  and  pluck,  and  the  secret  of 
the  "enchanted"  bam. 

THE  WITNESS 

The  fascinating  story  of  the  enormous  change  an  incident 
jrrought  in  a  man's  life. 

MARCIA  SCHUYLER 

A  picture  of  ideal  girlhood  set  in  the  time  of  full  skirts  and 
poke  bonnets. 

LO.  MICHAEL! 

A  story  of  unfailing  appeal  to  all  who  love  and  understand  boys. 
THE  MAN  OF  THE  DESERT 

An  intensely  moving  love  story  of  a  man  of  the  desert  and  a 
girl  of  the  East  pictured  against  the  background  of  the  Far  West 

PHOEBE  DEANE 

A  tense  and  charming  love  story,  told  with  a  grace  and  a  fer« 
vor  with  which  only  Mrs.  Lutz  could  tell  it. 

DAWN  OF  THE  MORNING 

A  romance  of  the  last  century  with  all  of  its  old-fashioned 
diarm.  A  companion  volume  to  "Marcia  Schuyler"  and 
"Phoebe  Deane." 

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JACK    LONDON'S    NOVELS 

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JOHN  BARLEYCORN.    Illustrated  by  H.  T.  Dunn. 

This  remarkable  book  is  a  record  of  the  author's  own  amazing 
experiences.     This  big,   brawny  world  rover,   who  has  been  ac- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON.   Frontispiece  by  George  Harper. 

The  story  opens  in  the  city  slums  where  Billy  Roberts,  teamster 
and  ex-prize  fighter,  and  Saxon  Brown,  laundry  worker,  meet  and 
love  and  marry.  They  tramp  from  one  end  of  California  to  the 
other,  and  in  the  Valley  of  the  Moon  find  the  farm  paradise  that  is 
to  be  their  salvation. 
BURNING  DAYLIGHT.  Four  illustrations. 

The  story  of  an  adventurer  who  went  to  Alaska  and  laid  the 
foundations  of  his  fortune  before  the  gold  hunters  arrived.  Bringing 
his  fortunes  to  the  States  he  is  cheated  out  of  it  by  a  crowd  of  money 
kings,  and  recovers  it  only  at  the  muzzle  of  his  gun.  He  then  starts 
out  as:a  merciless  exploiter  on  his  own  account.  Finally  he  takes  to 
drinking  and  becomes  a  picture  of  degeneration.  About  this  time 
he  falls  in  love  with  his  stenographer  and  wins  her  heart  but  not 
her  hand  and  then — but  read  the  story! 
A  SON  OF  THE  SUN.  Illustrated  by  A.  O.  Fischer  and  C.W.  Ashley. 

David  Grief  was  once  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed  youth  who  came 
from  England  to  the  South  Seas  in  search  of  adventure.  Tanued 
fiike  a  native  and  as  lithe  as  a  tiger,  he  became  a  real  son  of  the  sun. 
The  life  appealed  to  him  and  he  remained  and  became  very  wealthy. 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and 
Charles  Livingston  Bull.  Decorations  by  Charles  E.  Hooper. 

A  book  of  dog  adventures  as   exciting  as  any  man's  exploits 
could  be.    Here  is  excitement  to  stir  the  blood  and  here  is  pictur- 
esque color  to  transport  the  reader  to  primitive  scenes. 
THE  SEA  WOLF.    Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward. 

Told  by  a  man  whom  Fate  suddenly  swings  from  his  fastidious 
life  into  the  power  of  the  brutal  captain  of  a  sealing  schooner.    A 
novel  of  adventure  warmed  by  a  beautiful  love  episode  that  every 
reader  will  hail  with  delight. 
WHITE  FANG.    Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

'White  Fang"  is  part  dog,  part  wolf  and  all  brute,  living  in  the 
frozen  north ;   he  gradually  comes  under  the  spell  of  man  s  com- 

5i.nicmship,  and  surrenders  all  at  the  last  in  a  fight  with  a  bull  dog 
'hereafter  he  is  man's  loving  slave.  ^_ 

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ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

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THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 
THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT^ 
THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 
RIDERS   OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 
THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 
DESERT  GOLD 
BETTY  ZANE 

'******* 
LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 

The  life  story  of  "Buffalo  Bill"  by  his  sister  Helen  Cody 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


M.  BOWER'S  NOVELS 


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CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U.    Wherein  the  1  ove  affairs  of  Chip  and 

Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humorously  told. 
THE  HAPPY  FAMILY.  A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with 
""the  adventures  of  eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  eowboya 
itlER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT.  Describing  a  gay  party  of  Easterners 
~  who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  a  Montana  ranch-house. 
THE  RANGE  DWELLERS.  Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  be- 
"  two  families,  and  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright, 

jolly  story. 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  DIM  TRAILS.     A  vivid  portrayal  of  the 
"'experience  of  an  Eastern  author  among  the  cowboys. 
THE  LONESOME  TRAIL.     A  little  branch  of  sage  brush  and  the 
"recollection  of  a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  upset  "Weary"  David- 

son's plans. 

THE  LONGSHADOW.     A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with 
'   the  free  outdoor  lite  oFa  mountain  ranch.    It  is  a  fine  love  story. 
GOOD  INDIAN.     A  stirring  romance  of  life  on  an  Idaho  ranch. 
FLYING  U  RANCH,     Another  delightful  story  about  Chip  and 

^VTMO  Trfi  LAST  STAND.    An  amusing  account  of  Chip 
The  other  boys  opposing  a  party  of  school  teachers. 


THE  UPHILLCLIMB.     A  story  of  a  mountain  ranch  and  of  a 

'  man's  hard  hght  on  thi  uphill  road  to  manliness. 

THE  PHANTOM  HERD,     The  title  of  a  moving-picture  staged  i 


THE  DESERT.     A  New  Mezico  ranch  .tory  of  my. 


excitement  and  love. 

^==±=f^^r~P^nm        NBwJfog 


"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things^ 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  Thi* 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary] 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress.' 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem- 
perament that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ao 
cording  to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat- 
ters— tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  life. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

ROSE  O'  PARADISE 

"  Jinny  "  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas- 
sionate yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  a  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

Ask    for  Complete   free  list  of  G.   &   D.   Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

Hay  ba  had  whsrew  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 
THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.^  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
foot-prints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom  Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND., 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  f  eudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon= 
shiner's  son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountai  neers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

AAfor  compete  fret  Hit  of  G.  &  D.  Pofalar  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM   MACLEOD   RAINE 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     :  Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

MAVERICKS 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "  rustler  "  abounds.    One  of  the  sweetesi 
love  stories  ever  told. 

A  TEXAS  RANGER 

How  a  member  of  the  border  police  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man,  followed  a 
fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then  passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING 

In  this  vivid  story  the  author  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  all  its 
engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

The  *cene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  politics  and  mining  in- 
dustries are  the  religion  of  the  country. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR 

Every  chapter  teem*  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  replete  with  the  dashinr 
spirit  of  the  border. 
CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT 

A  story  of  Arizona ;  of  swift-riding  men  and  darinr  outlaws ,  of  a  bitter  feud  be- 
tween cattle-men  and  sheep-herders. 
BRAND  BLOTTERS 

A  story  of  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  a  charming  love  interest  running; 
through  its  page*. 
STEVE  YEAGER 

A  story  brimful  of  excitement,  with  enough  gun-play  and  adventure  to  «nit  *nyont. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

A  Western  story  of  romance  and  adventure,  comprising  a  vivacious  and  stirring 
tale. 
THE  HIGHGRADER 

A  breezy,  pleasant  and  amusing  love  story  of  Western  mining:  life. 
THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA 

A  tale  of  old-time  pirates  and  of  modern  love,  hate  and  adventure. 
THE  YUKON  TRAIL 

A  crisply  entertaining  love  story  in  the  land  where  might  makes  right. 
THE  VISION  SPLENDID 

In  which  two  cousins  are  contestants  for  tke  same  prizes ;  political  honors  and  the 
hand  of  a  girl. 
THE   SHERIFF'S  SON 

The  hero  finally  conquers  both  himself  and  his  enemies  and  wins  the  love  of  a 
wonderful  girl. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,          PUBLISHERS,          NEW  YORK 


University  of  California  Library 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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